


happy tears

by isadivine



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Drug Use, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I'm serious about the angst, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Shameless Smut, Slow Burn, a journey from fluff to angst to fluff, kind of?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-08-05 23:28:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16377083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isadivine/pseuds/isadivine
Summary: Jason turned to him, leaning in to place a kiss at his lips, but Matt surged forward, evading him and closing him into a hug instead. It was subtle, but so fucking deliberate that Jason felt an icy cold spread from his chest to his whole body. The feeling of absolute disgust remained in the pit of his stomach through the crowning, through the party after and long beyond. Jason wasn’t sure if it ever really left at all.Or, a story of two people, their own personal problems, a shared feeling and absolutely no intention of talking about it, ever.





	1. Prologue

 

* * *

 

 

 

Matt didn't know when it started.

 

 _Lies_.

 

He knew exactly when it started. Maybe not the exact moment, but it was definitely somewhere between a heated glance in the werk-room, Jason catching him admiring the outline of his ass as he pulled off his gown, and a serious - _way too serious_ \- proposition Jason had made a week later in the hotel elevator.  
  
"This is a catastrophically bad idea”, Matt had breathed, playing various scenarios of them getting disqualified over this in his head as Jason pushed him against his room’s door. There were lips on his collarbone, then teeth.  
  
"Probably."

Jason’s hand traveled farther down, suddenly playing with the button on his jeans.

“We should stop”, Matt breathed, lips brushing against Jason’s cheek.

“Probably”, Jason whispered as he took Matt's cock in his hand, hot and heavy, and captured his lips in a sinful, heated kiss. All reason left his stupid stoner head, and he melted into Jason, giving in. He had the audacity to smile against Matt's lips when he knew he had won, the smug bastard.

“I hate you.”

“Mhhm. Sure you do.”

From that day onwards it was stupidly fond notes passed from hand to hand in the werk room, lustful kisses changed in the darkness of the hallway between the smoking are and backstage. It was many night (most nights) spent sleeping in a bed that was definitely _not_ the one designated by the crew for Matt's own, personal use.  
  
Matt didn't know when it got serious.

 _A lie, too._ Jason had made it very clear.  
  
I love you, he said. For the first time, after a particularly heated night at his Brooklyn apartment a month after filming. It was three words spoken in a tone uncharacteristically soft for Jason, and Matt felt himself smile against his lover’s back. He wrapped his arms around him and held on like his life depended on it and they fell into a warm, dreamless sleep.

I love you, Jason kept saying. Sometimes he whispered it in his ear when they were out having lunch with the girls from their season, making Matt blush and wonder if they were overheard. Sometimes he screamed it loudly over the phone, drunk at some Atlanta club, trying to make sure Matt heard him over the music.  
  
_I love you so much,_ Matt thought, thought on it so hard that he thought the whole world could hear him.

Sometimes Matt didn’t understand them. He didn’t understand where they were as friends, as lovers or as whatever they were supposed to be.

But that didn’t mean Matt was willing to talk about it. Matt didn't do emotions. Matt didn't do vulnerability. And he was perfectly happy just navigating this as it happened, thank you very much. He was pretty sure Jason and him were on the same page.

 

* * *

   
  
  
Jason didn't know when he started questioning it.

 

_Lies._

 

Jason could pinpoint the exact, specific time and place when his carefully maintained world started crumbling down.

It was all lazy kisses in Atlanta sun, long weekends spent visiting New York, nights spent together actively forgetting they were only months away from when the show started airing. He would spend most of his time in New York or thinking about being there. He bought a calendar, a real one, made Matt tell him which weekends he had off and marked them down with a vividly red pen. They shared beds, meals and intimate moments, spiraling into a void of love and affection without ever really stopping to think or talk where this was going. Jason thought it was better without labels. Maybe.

It was sweet, innocent and uncomplicated, until one day, when he heard Matt joke to Kennedy that  _"we single guys really need to stick together"_ , he felt bile rise to his throat. 

He grabbed him by the hand that night at the club, maneuvered them into a bathroom stall and made Matt fuck him raw and hard. He bit love bites into every inch of his skin he could reach, claiming, marking, not bothering to think why. He growled into Matt's ears as he came: _“I’m your only one”,_ and after, drank so much he almost forgot about saying it.

His world didn’t even have a reason to start slowly crumbling away. He knew Matt loved him, saw it in every look, it was clear in every kiss and morning coffee. He knew he wanted him, felt it in every touch, during every shared night and morning after. Or did he?

Sometimes Jason didn’t understand why it hurt him so much when Matt joked about his grindr guys when they were out with friends. He didn’t understand the way his stomach turned when Matt embraced Katya and planted a sloppy, disgusting kiss on his lips. He didn’t understand why Matt shot a concerned look his way when he stormed past them, lips a thin line. He didn’t understand the way a single look from Matt could make his knees go weak.  
  
That didn't mean he was willing to talk about it. Jason didn't do weakness. Jason didn't do confrontation. He was perfectly happy letting things go as they naturally did, he was content in the current situation, thank you very much. What could go wrong, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey people!
> 
> I'm posting the prologue and the first real chapter right away and the rest will be coming later. They get longer towards the end, so bear with me. Has this ship died? ??? don't know don't care.
> 
> P.S. This is also my first fic in this fandom, and English is not my first language, so please forgive me if I've made any stupid mistakes. I swear I know how to write but I also have absolutely no idea how to use this fucking website so I'm at the absolute limit of my abilities here honestly


	2. Chapter 2

Jason was a work of art. It was unfair, really, how everything he did, every mundane task he performed turned into something intriguing, a spectacle. Everything he touched became holy in the most unholy way. Splayed across his bed, unmoving and asleep, Jason was so much more than anyone had ever been to him. 

It drove Matt crazy.    
  
It was one of those rare mornings when Matt had woken up first. Jason was snoring quietly under the covers as he observed him from his favorite spot on the bedroom window sill, a cup of coffee in hand. Below, New York was buzzing slowly, muffled sounds rising up from the spring-lit streets. Sunlight danced on the walls of the small Brooklyn apartment, and on Jason's exposed pale skin. Matt sipped at his coffee, smiling to himself. It was a domestic moment, one filled with nothing but stillness and quiet content.    
  
Jason stirred slowly, groaned as bright daylight hit his eyes and whined when he found the bed next to him empty. Slender arms appeared from under the covers, searching for a body that wasn't there.   
  
Jason found his eyes from across the room and smiled, his eyes groggy, but soft with fondness. He was a textbook example of afterglow. He looked like love, sex and a good night's sleep. Matt savored the sight of him.   
  
"Hey", Matts whispered, barely audible. They held each other's gazes, blue and brown eyes locked together. Matt was reminded how those eyes looked last night, blown dark with arousal, burning with passion. He replayed some of those images in his head: Jason intertwining their fingers as he lay beneath him, trembling. His name spoken in soft, desperate tones, again and again. Jason whispering strings of words in his ear as he eased himself down on him.    
  
_ You're so good, you're so beautiful, oh God, Matt. You're perfect, you're so, so good.  _   
  
He felt affection bloom like flowers inside his chest, the feeling reflected in those soft brown irises. Jason closed his eyes and lay back, letting out a lazy, pleased moan. A slight smile splayed across his lips.   
  
Matt got to his feet, padding quietly across the room to his lover. He sat down on the bed near Jason's chest. He leaned down, still holding his cup in his other hand (a risk) and ghosted his lips over Jason's. He moved up to place kisses over both of his closed eyes and returned to his lips for another light kiss. Jason parted his lips, inviting, but Matts withdraw, standing up again.   
  
"Get up", he said softly, with a mockingly serious tone. Jason let out a displeased whine and buried his face in his pillow, arms retreating back under the covers. Just as Matt was passing the threshold, moving towards the kitchen, he heard Jason call his name.    
  
"Hmm?" Matt asked, taking a long sip from his coffee.   
  
"I love you", Jason whispered.   
  
Matt paused, savoring, tasting the words floating in the warm morning air. He smiled into his coffee cup and turned again, walking out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

  
  


* * *

 

  
  


It was almost an hour before Jason finally got out of bed. Matt had had time to drink three cups of coffee and prepare a breakfast worthy of some serious praise. Jason had just disappeared into the bathroom without a word, the sheet still wrapped around his thin frame and looking adorably sleepy. He listened to the sounds of Jason shuffling around the bathroom, making himself another peanut butter and jelly toast. He leaned on the counter and sighed.

Moments later, Jason stepped out of the bathroom, freshly showered and clad in one of Matt's light sweaters. He sat on a chair next to the window, staring blankly at the stocked breakfast table. Matt observed his unmoving figure, slumped and shower-damp, trying to read his mood.

“I made breakfast”, he tried, tone gentle. 

“Mhhm”, Jason said, still staring blankly in front of him. He slowly reached for an apple and started nibbling at it. 

“You’re welcome?” Matt shot at him, taking a bite from his sandwich.

“Thanks”, Jason mumbled, and Matt didn’t miss the irritated notes in his voice.

“Hey. What’s up?” He said, walking towards Jason and plopping down on the chair next to him.

Jason didn’t answer and proceeded to nib at his apple, staring out of the window. There was a proudness to him, which he was used to seeing Jason wear when he had been offended, even though he had no idea what could have offended him this time. His dark curls fell down his shoulders in neat, wet locks. Matt stuck out his hand and brushed a few of them behind Jason’s ear. 

“Something wrong?” He asked quietly, his tone as gentle as he could make it. Jason didn’t look at him and kept his gaze at the window.

“No”, Jason said, in a tone that suggested the complete opposite.

“You sure?” Matt moved close to whisper the words into Jason’s ear, tone still warm.

“Mhhm”, Jason grunted, clearly still annoyed.

“Then compliment my fucking breakfast, bitch”, he said, still softly, letting his lips brush against Jason’s ear.

“Stop it”, Jason said, half-heartedly, as Matt grazed his teeth against his earlobe, earning a slight shiver.

Matt smiled and moved his lips to the crook of Jason’s jaw: “Nope. I made you breakfast, Princess. It was very nice of me, right?”

“Mhhm”, Jason mumbled, still distant as Matt started placing small kisses along his jaw. 

“I think I deserve something for it”, he continued, lips now grazing Jason’s cheek. Jason let his eyes flutter close, and Matt could practically feel his mood changing. “Maybe a kiss.”

“You think so?” Jason whispered, the annoyance now only a ghost in his voice.

“Mhhm”, Matt mumbled as he moved to connect his lips with Jason’s. Jason didn’t kiss back at first, but as he was pulling back, Matt could feel a hand snaking up to cup his cheek. Suddenly he was pulled into a kiss, slow and dirty, Jason’s lips moving against his. There was nothing sweet in the way he was kissing him. He was assertive and deliberate, making his annoyance bleed into the way he explored Matt's mouth. 

He felt Jason’s hand slip into his lap, raking his thigh, then grabbing his hand and pulling it towards his own groin. “Touch me”, Jason demanded, voice low as they broke apart.

Matt obliged, snaking his hand under the sweater, tracing the outline of Jason’s half hard dick through his boxers. Jason kissed him again, all grazing teeth and rough movements. His breath hitched as Matt started palming him through the thin fabric. He continued his movements, Jason grinding softly against him. Suddenly, Matt felt Jason’s mouth move against his ear and a hand tugging at his nose ring: “Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna suck my dick right here in this chair, then you’re gonna make me some coffee and after that maybe,  _ maybe,  _ I’m gonna compliment your stupid fucking breakfast. And if this breakfast is any good, I might even thank you for it later.”

Matt grinned, already moving to get down from his own chair: “You’re such a tough bitch to please, aren’t you?”


	3. Chapter 3

It was one of Matt's favorite places, Jason had to keep reminding himself of that. He sat in the corner of the bar, sipping on a gin and tonic as he watched a queen perform. He didn’t know her name, didn’t care. He was here for Matt and that was it, these other queens were nothing to him. 

The bar itself was grimy, dark, but undoubtedly crowded. The stage was small even for a shitty New York joint, but it had, as Matt had called it, “a nice atmosphere”. The crowd was enthusiastic, tipped well and everyone seemed to be having a great time. 

Except for Jason, of course. He was out of drag, tired from his flight and just wanted to lie down and close his eyes for one goddamned second. But it wasn’t like Matt hadn’t told him it was “no big deal” and “maybe you shouldn’t come over this week, I’m working like crazy”, he himself had decided to drag his ass to this city. Why? If somebody asked, he’d say it was for the sex, but Jason knew full well that that was only partly true. 

His wallowing was cut short when Matt -  _ Pearl  _ \- walked onstage. Jason put his drink down and let his eyes wander shamelessly over the familiar figure appearing on the stage. She looked flawless: Her blonde hair fell in short, neat curves around her face, make up perfect as always. What she was wearing was,  _ well,  _ outrageous. She had on a completely see-through jumpsuit, white and slightly shimmering, wide at the legs but skintight elsewhere. Underneath she was wearing only lingerie, a garter belt and a black corset, with fishnet stockings. Her body looked unbelievable, ready to be devoured.

Jason felt desire stir in the pit of his stomach, and something a lot like pride swell inside his chest. On stage, Pearl ran her hands across the length of her body, slow and deliberate, hands slipping last to grab at her own ass.  _ Show-off. _

Her show was all flickering lights, electroclash and synthpop, combined with generous flirting. She moved in strange patterns, locked eyes with all strangers close by and touched, felt, compelled the people around her. When she paused to collect a tip, she glanced towards Jason, gazes locking, and flicked his tongue across his teeth. Jason stifled a groan.

He ordered a shot, downing it swiftly. Matt's set was over and she disappeared behind the silver curtain to the back of the stage, another nameless queen taking the stage. Only moments after, Jason’s phone buzzed. 

 

**From Matt:** _ come backstage in 5. take the door left of the stage, you’ll find me. _

 

Just when he was putting his phone back to his pocket, a strange voice spoke from the seat next to him: “Are you Violet Chachki?”

Jason whirled around and saw a queen, older, tall as fuck, but pretty, sitting on the barstool. She was the queen who had been onstage before Matt. He didn’t recall her name. She had dark skin and a worn out wig and a dress she had very clearly made herself. 

“Have we met?” Jason answered, startled, managing to sound less that friendly.

“No, probably not. I used to do shows in Atlanta, before coming to New York. Follow you on instagram, that’s how I know your face. I hear you’re hot stuff down in Georgia nowadays”, the queen continued, completely brushing off Jason’s rudeness, picking up a drink and sipping on it. Despite the unpolished look, she had an air of extreme confidence and charisma, and Jason found himself intrigued. Also, he couldn’t help but to feel a little proud. Recognized in New York and out of drag, nonetheless. No matter who this queen was, she was clearly much older than Jason, probably more experienced and he knew Violet fucking Chachki. “Are you here for someone special?”

“Pearl. We’re- we’ve worked together”, Jason answered, smiling.

“Pearl's a lot, don’t you think”, the queen smiled, twirling her straw in her glass. 

“Yeah. The future of drag, that’s what she calls it”, Jason said and rolled his eyes dramatically. 

The queen laughed loudly. “I like you”, she said and offered Jason a big smile, sliding a shot towards him. 

They fell into easy conversation. They talked about Atlanta and New York, their careers and dreams, and before Jason noticed, it had been almost half an hour. 

“Fuck!” He exclaimed, standing up from his seat. “I was supposed to meet Pearl like twenty minutes ago, I really have to go.”

He said his farewells to the queen, who gave him her number for future reference, staying at the bar to chat up her other friends. Jason strolled across the now less crowded bar, and opened the door to the back of the stage. He walked down a narrow hallway to a door leading what was clearly a dressing room and halted to a stop. 

There was Matt, half out of drag, sitting on the vanity, his hands thrown carelessly around a young twinky queen dressed in lingerie.

“...so whaddya think?” The twink drawled from between Matt's legs. “You game?”

“Oh I bet you’d like that”, Matt laughed, his tone dark and teasing.

“I would. Can I top?” The other boy said and ran his hand along the outline of Matt's ass.

“Mmmm… If you really want to”, Matt said, tone laced with flirt. “Can’t promise my ass won’t bite your dick off whole, though, nobody’s been near that danger zone for years. You can take a chance, if you’re brave.”

“A top, really? You have such bottom energy. Well, can’t be always right, I guess”, the twink declared, placing a sloppy, wet kiss on Matt's lips and untangling himself from his arms. He winked: “You have my number.”

Jason felt hot fury brun through his guts as he watched Matt smirk as the twink walked off, eyes obviously glued to his ass. The young guy passed Jason at the door, mumbled a quick,  _ sorry girl,  _ and walked out, leaving Matt's gaze on Jason. 

Pure malice dribbled from every inch of Jason’s skin and he stared into Matt's eyes from across the room. Without saying a word, he turned around, pulled at the dressing room door and slammed it shut with force. 

He walked through the room, every step more deliberate than the other, and stepping right between Matt’s legs where the twink had stood, grabbed his face with his strong, slender fingers. His grip was hard enough to bruise, but Matt just looked at him, straight in the eyes and smirked.  _ Motherfucker. _

Jason crashed their lips together, his other hand coming to grab at Matt's ass, finger digging painfully into his flesh. The kiss was bruising, rough and full of teeth, and he moaned, almost growled into Matt's mouth. Matt flung his arms around his back and Jason nibbed at his lower lip. He released his face, bringing both of his hands to pull Matt closer, pressing their groins together. Matt moaned appreciatively at the friction, leaning into the contact. Their harsh, rough movements slowly became more urgent, they were grinding against each other, hands exploring, but suddenly, Matt pulled away. He grinned against Jason’s skin and pressed a quick kiss to his lips before speaking: “You’re late.”

“You. Are. Not. Allowed.” Jason was practically growling, his voice dangerous. He emphasized every word with a nip at Matt's lips, drawing blood with the last. He kissed him again, then continued to place sloppy kisses all over Matt's lips.

“Wasn’t aware”, Matt's breathed in between kisses, clearly not even trying to sound innocent.

“Have you fucked a lot of guys when I’ve been gone”, Jason snarled, moving to bite at Matt's neck, biting down hard when he didn’t immediately answer. His hand moved to the space between their groins, teasing. He ghosted over the outline of Matt's dick, hard against the black shorts he had pulled on.

“Not a single one, trust and believe. Who’s gonna be as good as you are, anyways?” Matt spoke, out of breath, pulling Jason to another scorching kiss. 

Jason started trailing kisses down Matt's exposed chest, introducing teeth from time to time, his words muffled: “You were so fucking beautiful on that stage.”

“I dressed up for you”, Matt teased, and Jason looked back up at his face. He ran his fingers over the fishnet stockings the blonde still had on.

“Can’t wait to rip these off.”

 

* * *

 

Jason was still fuming when they reached Matt's flat. Matt barely had time to close the door behind them before Jason pushed him against the door, locking both of his hands in a vicious grip over his head. Jason attacked his mouth, the kiss aflame with lust and desperate need. Matt let himself be dominated, completely pliant in his bruising grip. It irritated the shit out of Jason.

“So who was that?” Jason asked, the word leaving him before he could stop them. His tone was carefully casual, as he traced kisses along Matt’s neck. Matt tried to shut him up by capturing his lips again, but Jason simply gave him a bite and pressed his lips against his ear. There was nothing casual about his voice when he continued: “Don’t play me, bitch. That skinny top putting his dirty hands all over you backstage. Who was that?”

“Some baby queen, I don’t even know if he’s 21 yet. Why do you care?” Matt answered. Answered like it was no big deal. A nasty, grimy feeling was sliding around in the pit of Jason’s stomach, making him bite harder against Matt’s skin.

“He was touching you”, Jason stated, and immediately hated himself for saying it. What was he? Fifteen? Matt tore his hands from Jason’s grasp and guided his face in front of his, pulling Jason by his chin. He had a teasing, smug smile on his face and Jason hated it. 

“Is people touching me a problem for you, Princess?” Matt ran his finger across Jason’s lower lip, his eyes staring at him with a curious glint.

Jason stared him down, not quite managing to soften the pointed tone of his voice: “What if  _ I  _ wanted a barely legal twink to top me, would that be a problem for you?”

“I don’t think you like twinks.”

Matt’s hands were snaking behind him, grabbing at his ass. Jason swatted them away, his own returning to play with the waistband of Matt’s underwear, slowly slipping a hand inside.  “I don’t. I like you. Didn’t answer my question.”

Jason moved his hand slowly, torturing and teasing. He pulled on Matt’s pants, shoving them down a bit, then sliding to his knees. He watched as Matt’s eyes darkened, his breath hitching deliciously. The smile was still there, taunting Jason and he was planning to make it disappear. Fast. He licked a long line against Matt’s hipbone, lifting his shirt.

“ _ Fuck _ .”

He paused, breath ghosting over the sensitive skin at Matt’s groin. He pulled back, shooting a cocky smile up at Matt, who groaned, the smile now completely gone from his face. Jason ran a finger along the inside of his thigh.

“Maybe you should call him to finish you off, explore that bottom energy he said you have?” 

“You bitch-” 

“Should I go get your phone?”

Jason hopped up, turning to leave but strong hands gripped him before he got anywhere, hot lips pressing against his neck. He felt Matt’s hardness press against his thigh, grinding into him ever so slightly, demanding. 

“Listen, cunt. I like my hands on you. I like my dick inside you. I like your mouth on me. I like it so much”, Matt groaned, turning him around, placing rough kisses all over Jason. He pressed on Jason’s shoulders, guided him down less than gently. “...and I want more of it.”

“Then don’t flirt with twinks in lingerie”, Jason deadpanned as he sunk to his knees, drilling his eyes into Matt’s. He kept staring him down, nothing playful in his gaze as he took his full lenght into his mouth. 

  
The nasty feeling in his gut made way to arousal, but lingered, refusing to fully disappear, like a bad taste that lingers even after you eat something sweet. 


	4. Chapter 4

 

“Hi.”

“Hi”, Matt answered. He was laying on his bed, freshly showered. The air in his apartment was heavy with moisture and it made him feel drowsy, but an anxious buzz played around in his chest. Matt knew exactly what it was and it was definitely _not_ butterflies.

“Are you home?” Jason asked, not quite managing to hide the nervousness in his voice.

Matt hummed a yes, deliberately distant. He wasn’t going to talk about it, he sure as hell wasn’t, he would dance around the subject like a fucking ballerina if he needed to. It was a delicate thing, denial, but Matt was good at it. So fucking good it hurt.

“Was the show good last night?” Jason continued casually, like Matt didn’t know he was dying to ask the questions.

“It was fine”, he hummed.

“Tell me”, Jason demanded, and reluctantly, Matt started to talk. He stopped every few sentences, but Jason asked him another question, in a voice that was anything but interested. He knew what Jason was doing, and that’s why he answered, trying to talk this conversation into it's grave.  He told him about the queens he had met, the songs they had done. He told him what he wore and how much tips he got, what the people had said to him after the show. He told him what drinks he drank, what place they went to for food after the show, what plans they had made for the next week. Matt told him _everything_ and knew that Jason heard practically none of it. He heard it in every word Jason spoke, the thing that was on the tip of his tongue, creeping at the edge of their dull, one-sided conversation.

 _Fuck me,_ Matt thought. It was never going to end, was it. Maybe he needed to just get it over with. Rip it off like a bandaid, just a hot flash of pain that would be gone in an instant. It was better than this slow, silent torture Jason seemed intent on making him suffer through. Matt collected his thoughts, inhaled deeply and let his head fall back on the pillows.

“So, how are _you_ doing?” He asked, and knew Jason immediately understood what he meant. There was a pause, he heard a sound like fingers tapping against a table, a nervous tick of Jason’s. They were in it now.

“I’m… good. I mean, it’s fine, it’s not like I’m surprised.” Jason fumbled with his words and Matt could almost hear the distant expression in his voice, he could picture it: his eyes glazed over, gaze fixed, but mind racing. Jason coughed nervously. “The messages are, um, harsh. Or, you know... the opposite.”

“I bet”, his tone was blunt and Jason didn’t deserve it, really, but he couldn’t stop himself. A humourless chuckle rang in his ear and made him bite the inside of his cheek.

“Most of them just wanna tell me how hot I look.”

“Congrats.”

Matt rolled his eyes.

There was a silence between them, the unasked question looming over them. Matt rolled over and buried his face in his pillow, trying to will this moment to end. They were quiet, so quiet, seconds feeling like hours.

Eventually, the moment came to an end. He heard Jason move around and then:

“So, did you watch it?” Jason asked, tone carefully constructed, void of any emotion.

_And there it was._

Matt waited for a moment, waited for the right words to come to him, but his mind was blank. “No”, he finally said, fingers playing idly with the fabric of his sheets. He tried to ignore the tension in his muscles, the way he felt like an animal ready to run. Or attack, he didn't really know.

“You didn’t watch any of it?” There was doubt in Jason’s voice, and it stung like a knife.

“Nope.”

“Don’t lie to me, Matt.”

Matt felt a sudden rush of anger flash through him. He pictured it, a person he didn’t know, opening up their phone and searching for it, clicking open the video with Jason’s face on it. Drinking his body in with his gross stranger’s eyes. He hated it, he hated it so much it fucking hurt. He wanted those eyes off of Jason’s body.

He opened his mouth to explain how he felt, how embarrassingly jealous he was, but ended up saying: “I didn’t watch it. I’m not interested. I don’t want to see a barely eighteen you with scarred thighs jack off in front of a camera. Okay, I’m not into that? That’s gross.”

He snapped his mouth shut and shook his head: “Jason, I’m sorry. That sounded so bad, I didn’t mean it like that. But you know what I mean.”

His voice wasn’t as apologetic as he had meant it to be. Matt was so tired. When had he become this tired?

“Okay, I get it. Then did you read the reddit thread?” Jason persisted, his voice full with tense irritation.

“I didn’t read anything, okay?” He wanted this to stop. He wanted this to be easy, a joke between them. Something he could read Jason for someday in the future, leave him staring with his mouth agape with shock and amusement, they way he always looked at him when Matt managed to catch him off guard. But he knew that he would never be able to do that and he was also pretty sure he would feel the need to kill anyone who dared to bring up the video within his range of hearing. Yeah, he was pretty sure he’d have to kill that person with his bare hands.

“Well you clearly know all the details and you definitely saw something you don’t like. I know that tone, don’t try me.” Jason’s voice was irritated.

Jason was right, of course. He had seen something. The comments, the tweets, the jokes, the concerned fans. He had seen them and he hated it. Hated the way some adored it, hated the way some talked about his body. He didn’t want to talk about it, he didn’t want to think about it and he most definitely didn’t wanna hear one more word about it. He just wanted to sleep and to forget the nervous scratching inside of his chest.

_Jason, stop. Please stop, you don’t know what you’re doing to me. Please stop._

Jason was waiting, breathing in measured, mechanical breaths. Matt sighed, exhausted beyond belief and closed his eyes, playing his last card: He played dumb. He was good at that. “What are you on about?”

There was a venomous undertone in Jason’s voice, when he answered: "Are you serious?”

“Can’t we talk about something else?”

There was a silence in the other end of the line, a long, heavy one. He pictured Jason sitting in his apartment, make up still on his face, but otherwise out of drag, staring out of his small window in the kitchen. He pictured the lights of Atlanta reflected in his eyes, irises aflame with red and green and blue.

“I just remembered I have to write a couple of emails before I go to sleep. I gotta go”, Jason’s voice was flat now, reflecting the cold pride Matt was so extremely familiar with. He knew the tone meant that he had fucked up, Jason was not having it and it was time to apologise.

Jason hung up before Matt had time to say another word.

 

* * *

 

 

“I can’t come to New York next week.”

Matt stopped abruptly, almost forgetting the pouring rain drizzling down on him, soaking his hair and clothes. It was fairly early in the evening, but New York was already dark and grim, all light absorbed by grey clouds. On the other end of the line, Jason was silent.

“What the fuck?”

It was all he could manage. Matt was confused, soaking wet, a little irritated and a lot confused. Confusion had slowly become the dominating theme of his life, particularly around Jason. He had always been able to read him like an open book, but lately, Matt often had no fucking idea what was going on with him.

“I got a big gig here in Atlanta. It’s not like I can just say no”, Jason protested, already on the defense.

“What about the time I skipped that gig, like a month ago, when you forced me to come to Atlanta for you?” Matt shot back, flames of irritation licking at his skin again, the dull anger burning away at the cold wetness on his skin.

“That was different”, Jason said, his voice indifferent. “And fuck you, no one forced you to do anything.”

That indifference, it struck Matt hard every time. He should’ve been used to it by now, this was Jason. Proud, beautiful, flawless Jason who had big, wonderful things happening in his life, with a tendency to be a bit of a dick about it. Matt was fine with it, or had been. It was just that the indifference was ever so present now, just like the confusion. It was there, in their every conversation, and Matt was hurt, wearing Jason’s words on his heart like bruises. Not that he would ever admit it.

“Okay. Whatever”, he huffed and resumed walking, suddenly aware of every raindrop that hit his skin.

“Whatever? How flazé dah of you”, Jason joked, but there was a distinct bitterness to his tone.

“What am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know”, Jason said, almost like a confession. He heard him sigh, and then continue in a softer tone: “I do miss you.”

Now, he registered Jason’s tone, the effort behind it. It was a hand extended, an offering of truce, but Matt wasn’t having it.

“Usually, if I miss someone, I at least answer their fucking calls”, he shot back lazily. He felt like picking a fight. Maybe it was the rain that was soaking his freezing ass right to the bone, maybe it was the small irritating, confused feeling that seemed to be his new best friend he could not get rid of. Maybe he just felt like being a bitch.

“I’ve been busy, Matt. I’ve told you already”, Jason sighed.

“What are you busy doing in the middle of the day? Is having brunch so intense you can’t even send a goddamned text?”

“Oh my god, I’m sorry, okay? It’s- I’ve had some… long nights.”

Matt didn’t miss the way Jason fumbled with his words, just lightly. There was something funny in his tone, something like insecurity, that just didn’t fit. It was like he suddenly spoke in another language, one foreign to Matt. A strange worry crept to battle with the irritation and he cursed it in his mind, the way it made him want give up the fight he was so intent on having. He tried to keep himself going, to keep his tone pointed: “Long gigs? Or parties?”

“Does it matter?” Jason asked, totally giving up, his voice suddenly tired and strangely strained. It confused him further, the way Jason was behaving, the way he didn’t hold his own against him anymore. Jason had never been one to give in, he didn’t quit, conform or give up. Matt was so disturbed by the strange way Jason was talking, that he felt a sudden burning, a want, the need to see him and look him straight into those dark eyes and to see if it still was Jason he was talking to. But he couldn’t, could he? Because Jason was not coming to Atlanta.

He barely registered he was out of the rain now, fumbling with the buttons on the elevator. It jerked as it started to rise and Matt leaned to the wall, clothes damp against his skin. He felt like shit. He missed Jason and his touch, Jason and his stupid negativity, his hand squeezed in his own, and he wasn’t happy about it. He was supposed to be doing just fine by himself.

“Are you okay?” Matt found himself asking, finally giving in to the worry.

Jason sighed, a long heavy breath, before answering: “I’m fine, just tired.”

There was a pause, the heavy kind, another reoccuring theme in their conversations lately. It was just the sounds of the elevator, rattling as it rose higher. Matt got all the way to his apartment before Jason broke the silence:

“I’m sorry I can’t make it.”

“I’m sorry I was a bitch about it.”

Another pause followed, even heavier than the one before, accompanied only by the sound of Matt shuffling out of his wet clothes. It felt like something was purposefully left unsaid, like they were dancing around something again.

“You would tell me if something was wrong, right?” Matt asked, his voice now sincere. He bit his lip, standing naked and shivering in his dimly lit room.

“Of course”, he heard Jason answer, and almost believed him.

Another silence, and Matt couldn’t take it. He threw on a giant fur jacket and reached into it’s pocket, taking out a pack of cigarettes. He sighed.

“Can we talk later? I’m tired, cold and I really need a smoke.”  
  
“I thought you stopped.”  
  
“I did.”

Jason didn’t bother to answer and the line fell silent again. The fur of his jacket felt strange against his damp skin. A different, anxious feeling swam around in Matt’s chest. Still not butterflies.

He stepped out to the balcony.

“Um, bye, I’ll call you later”, he said quickly, ending the call.

It was still wet, cold and miserable outside. The smoke scratched at his lungs, the cold made him shiver and New York looked fucking dreadful. It all fit his mood perfectly. He took a long drag from his cigarette, allowed himself to fall deeper and deeper into a steadily darkening mood. He looked down and watched as people ran, trying to avoid getting wet.

Matt tried his hardest to forget hearing a faint whisper, a breath really, from the other end of the line just as he had ended the call.

“I love you”, Jason had whispered. 

Matt had absolutely no intention of calling Jason, at least not today. Maybe not tomorrow either.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> We're slowly entering the angsty part, just a heads up, check the warnings in the tags. We're gonna be going down that road for a good while before returning to the fluff-stuff.
> 
> This is sort of a turning point for this story and I use two povs instead of the typical one, you'll figure it out i believe in you. And I'm sure ginger is not a bitch irl, this just sort of... happened.

 

 

And just like that, Jason was a winner. There were people touching him, hugging him, praising him and he was so happy he could burst. He felt a lightness fill his body, a warmth and joy he didn’t realise his life had been missing.

Jason turned to look around the room, the smiling faces, familiar and still unknown. There was so much he needed to share with them, make them a part of this joy he was feeling. Everything he was feeling was surely too much for one person to feel.

It had all been so fucking dumb. All the things he had thought about himself, all the doubt and fear. He was a winner, _a fucking winner,_ he was successful, beautiful and Pearl - _Matt -_ was there, right next to him, smiling encouragingly and he loved him.

He loved him. They were in love.

That had also been stupid, the doubts he was having about the two of them. In the middle of the chaos, lights flashing and people screaming, he let go of all that resentment, all the grudges he had been holding, because what was there to hide now? It was more of a physical feeling than an emotion, a lightness in his step that could only be described as freedom. He was free. The show was over, Jason had won and their life was just about to begin. There would be tours, new cities, new people and they would get to experience it all together.

He could imagine it. He was looking Ginger in the eyes, registered the feeling of her arms around him, but he was somewhere else. He saw Matt, sitting in an airplane, sleeping quietly next to him, saw them walking down the street of some nameless old town in Europe, holding hands. He heard the sounds of it, tasted it on his lips. It was all within his reach now, and he was reaching, grasping at the edge of that everlasting happiness. Because all was well. All was finally well. They were so good, so beautiful together and Jason wanted the whole entire world to see it.

There, in the middle of chaos, he turned to Matt, looked him in the eyes and smiled.

Matt was smiling back, eyes soft and gentle, the color of them lost in the lights of the room. Jason grabbed both of his hands and closed the distance between them, leaning in to place a kiss at his lips, making extra sure Matt knew what he was going to do. This was it now, he felt it and he wanted Matt to feel it too. He leaned in, tilting his head, the warm buzz in his chest turning into a smile playing at his lips.

There were no lips meeting his. He only felt as Matt surged forward, evading him and closed him into a hug instead. Hands were curled around his frame in an embrace that screamed casual, pulling him in.

It was at that precise moment that Jason’s world stopped.

All sound was muffled, all cheering distant, only the thumping of his heartbeat loud in his ears, the feeling of a body against his and something crawling around his insides.

It was subtle, what Matt did, but so _fucking deliberate_ that Jason felt an icy cold form in his heart, seeping deeper and slowly spreading from his chest to his whole body. He didn’t squeeze Matt back, just remained in his arms, frozen, his expression falling to reveal his misery for absolutely no-one standing in front of him. It wasn’t even an expression, but the complete lack of one. He spent those three seconds in Matt arms staring at the wall, distantly glad of that one moment of pure privacy.

When Matt released him and Jason turned around, a smile was already plastered across his face, a smile he put on for the cameras. He didn’t look back when he left, allowed himself to be led through hallways, through rooms, pausing only to hear empty praises from people he cared so incredibly little about. There were lights flashing, Jason was smiling, he was putting on a good show.

The crawling feeling on his skin found it’s way down his throat, settling somewhere deep inside of him, the only thing safe from the cold. That feeling of absolute disgust remained in the pit of his stomach through the crowning, through the party after and long beyond.

Jason wasn’t sure if it ever really left at all.

 

* * *

 

Matt managed to grab Jason’s hand for a second, maybe two, before there were eyes on them. Then there were hands grabbing at them, leading Jason away from him and into the crowd filling the club, after party in full swing. Everyone wanted a piece of the winner, and Jason was laughing, smiling, revelling in the attention. There were so many familiar faces, all the season seven girls and more. Jason looked at him before disappearing into the crowd, a glance, but his face gave Matt nothing. No smile or half-hearted apology, no promise of _see you later._ Suddenly, he felt alone.

Matt let himself be dragged around too, let himself be hugged and complimented by a wide array of people. They weren’t as enthusiastic with him, it wasn’t like he had just won a crown. He was a runner up, and he was surprisingly okay with it. He wasn’t America’s Next Drag Superstar, that was Violet Chachki. And she deserved it. Jason deserved it.

When Alaska asked her if he felt robbed, he shook his head.

“Violet was the winner from the moment she stepped into that room, and you know that.”

That earned him a raised eyebrow and a drawn out “ _suuure, whatever”._

Matt drank and fell into hollow conversations with queens he knew, introduced himself to a million new people whose names he immediately forgot. It was fine. Adequate. Okay. Fun, in a way. Was he enjoying himself? No. Was he enjoying the way he saw Jason’s face was glow when he observed him through the crowd?

_Yes, and it was pathetic, thank you very much._

He spent a minute watching Jason, eyes trained on his face. It made him happy, seeing his face alight with a sparkling joy, casually talking to queens Matt was pretty sure he himself wouldn’t ever catch the attention of. He loved the way Jason looked. Only once did Jason glance back at him, a brief moment of contact. Matt was distantly aware of the effort it took him to force his lips to form an enthusiastic smile.

A few slow hours later, when Matt was coming back inside from a smoke break, he bumped into Katya. The queen latched onto him and dragged him to the dance floor, twirling him around. They danced for a moment, all laughs and ridiculous moves, and suddenly he was being dragged away again. Katya pulled him by his arm, taking him all the way to the back of the club, sitting down to a booth, patting the seat next to him.

“Sit your butt down. I want a chat, Mollusc.”

Matt seated himself next to her, a smile playing at his lips. Katya had on a face of pure intent. She tried to act coy, crossing her legs and tracing an innocent finger against the glass of Matt’s drink that he had placed on the table. It really just made her look like the spitting image of a person that was up to something.

“So, you seem as happy as a clam at high tide even though it didn’t work out for you. You know, the winning thing”, she said, focusing his blue eyes on Matt’s.

“I feel happy. I am happy. Am I supposed to be sad?” Matt shrugged and sipped at his drink. Katya kept staring.

“Have you seen Ginger?” Katya asked, staring him down.

“Nope. But doesn’t change the fact that I’m feeling happy”, Matt shrugged.

“Hmm, but are you happy... or are happy _for her_ ?”, the blonde asked, nodding her head towards the dance floor. Matt didn’t have to guess who she was talking about. He felt his stomach drop a little. _Motherfucker._

“Ugh”, was all he managed to get out. His let his head fall against the table, defeated, giving in to all the ugly feeling lurking somewhere behind his happy facade.

Katya bounced her leg, leaning towards Matt. A hand was placed on the small of his back, and he could see Katya’s gleaming eyes from where his head rested against the grimy table. She patted Matt with her hand, and continued with a quirky tone: “You know, I happen to have a special, special sense for shenanigans. A shenani-sense, if you will.” She paused to cackle at her own joke, and Matt couldn’t help but to grin. “Okay, listen to me, Shells. The sense is tickling, trembling even, and it’s pointing right at you and little Miss Winner.”

“Katya…” Matt groaned, closing his eyes.

“Hey, I won’t push, but I know something’s going on between you two whores and I can listen if you ever feel the need to talk. I’m here, I’m queer and I care”, Katya said, her voice gentle. Matt raised his head and threw an appreciative glance at the older queen. Katya reached out to smooth the back of his hand and then grabbed it fiercely, her eyes suddenly wild with excitement. “And I really also just wanna know if I’m right.”

Matt smiled, a genuine, warm smile. Katya was the one he could talk to, he decided, she really was. It felt like a weight had been lifted off of Matt’s chest. He could finally share this secret with someone, finally talk to a person who knew them both, someone who knew the ethereal being that was Violet Chachki and the cocky idiot of a person that created her. Katya was a treasure, she was precious and Matt wanted to tell her everything.

And then, from behind his back, a loud voice boomed:

“What the fuck are you two bitches doing, hiding from me?”

Ginger. She appeared from behind their back, cocktail in hand and promptly settled to the seat opposite them, their conversation freezing, their moment coming to an awkward stop.

“Did I interrupt?” Ginger drawled, eyeing the pair of them, lips closing around her straw.

Before they could answer, another voice called from next to them. Another familiar figure came into view, sporting the expression of someone who has just heard a secret they were dying to share. Grabbing Katya’s arm, was Kasha: “Sorry, I have to borrow this bitch for a minute, I have something very important to discuss.”

“Am I in trouble?” Katya asked, laughing and standing up to follow her. There was a hand on Matt’s shoulder and Katya leaned closer, teeth touching the lobe of his ear: “I’ll be back, bitch. I wanna hear it.”

As Katya was dragged away, he was left with Ginger, who was smirking in a way that made Matt uneasy. They chatted, all uninteresting small talk, and Matt squirmed in his seat. He turned his gaze to the dance floor, looking for a distraction, and there was Jason.

No, there was Violet and the bitch looked like a goddess, glistening in the flickering lights of the club. She was hunched over, talking to someone who looked a lot like Jaidynn, then whirling around as another figure grabbed at her shoulder from behind. He saw Violet laugh, swat at Fame’s hand and start dancing, swaying her hips seductively in front of the other queen.

“So you and Chachki, huh?” Ginger asked, her voice loud over the music, startling Matt out of staring. The queen wiggled her eyebrows and took a long sip from her drink.

“What do you mean?” Matt tried, avoiding her eyes. He felt his face flush with red, betraying him like nothing else. In this moment, Ginger was the opposite of Katya and he wanted nothing less than to unburned his heart by talking to her. The weight that had been lifted from his chest was back, and it seemed to have gotten heavier while away. Matt found that it was suddenly a little hard for him to breathe.

“Oh come on, don’t have to be Sherlock to figure that one out. I’ve never seen her look at anyone like that, it’s gotta be serious. It’s cute really, the winner and the runner up. Can’t wait for all the drama.”

He wanted to run. Or maybe he wanted to punch Ginger right in her smug little face. He wasn’t sure.

“What are you gonna do when it gets out? I mean, _I’m_ not spilling, but you know it’ll come out eventually.” Ginger swirled her straw, making small circles in the red of her drink and Matt suddenly realised how much he hated him.

“Ginger, girl, I love you, but I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about and I need you to shut the fuck up”, he said flatly, barely keeping the flashes of anger and nervous energy contained.

“Alright, okay, Pearly girl. Relax.”

He tried not to see Ginger roll her eyes, tried not to see her lean to the side and glance at Violet on the dance floor. But he saw, he did.

“Just because you’re surprised and bitter you lost doesn’t mean you have to go off on me, girl”, Matt growled and downed his drink with a few gulps. Ginger looked at him, eyes wide, and settled to just shaking her head. Matt knew it was a low blow, but he didn’t care. He didn’t fucking care.

An icy silence fell upon the pair. The party pulsed around them, music, lights and queens from all over the country. It should’ve been a good night, but it wasn’t, it really wasn’t. Something burned in Matt’s lungs, a tension he could not get rid of. Ginger observed him, eyes scrutinizing his every move. He hated it.

“You know what, fuck this”, Matt suddenly blurted out and stood up. The lights were bright in his eyes and the music was too loud, he needed to get out. He barely registered Ginger trying to shout his name, or Katya grabbing him by the elbow at the door. He mumbled something under his breath, an excuse, he hoped, but wasn’t really sure.

Everything was a blur, a struggle of keeping it together, from the cab to the elevator to finally, his hotel room. He closed the door behind himself and paused, taking in the clean, cramped view of his room. He never realised how much he despised blue. He was calm, too calm, as he walked to his bed and sat down. Long moments went by, and Matt kept staring blankly at the stained navy carpet.

He could feel it minutes before it was on him, the anxiety rising from the inside of his chest, slowly engulfing him in pure panic. Slowly, he forgot how to breathe, breaths turning into short, pained gasps, and then to hyperventilation. He didn’t know when he started crying, but the tears flowed down from his eyes and he pressed his hands against them, trying to escape into darkness. He held on, held onto himself, to the sheets on the bed, to anything he got a hold of, desperately trying to keep himself from falling. Everything became a blur of fear and hurt, turning him into a mess of trembling limbs, a miserable mess sprawled on the dirty floor.

It didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop it. It wouldn’t stop.

But it did, only it left behind something worse. A heavy, unsettling knot had nestled itself deep somewhere near Matt’s heart, tearing at his flesh in sudden jolts of pain.

He spent the next day trying to forget it was there.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the tags and keep yourselves safe ❤

 

Jason heaved into the toilet of someone he didn’t know.

Actually, he didn’t even know where he was, what part of the city this was and barely remembered he really was in Atlanta. He only remebered bursting through the doors to this guy's apartment and prompty passing out on his couch. Also, he did know last night had been a fucking mistake and that he was having one motherfucking comedown. 

There was a heavy feeling in his chest again, pressing down like lead. That was what he had tried to chase off for the last night. And the night before and actually, almost every other day for the last couple of weeks. It had been a fun night. Well, a good night by all standards, that was for sure. But was it really about having fun anymore? Had it ever been? Jason didn’t know. But at least it kept his mind occupied.

Being on the go, keeping himself distracted was something his world revolved around these days. It had been surprisingly easy, slipping into a routine of sorts: a show, a new city, new people, drinks or drugs, or sometimes (if he wasn't feeling it) both. He went out with people he barely knew, had a shitton of drinks or a little ecstasy, and maybe a bit of K or weed to calm him down before sleep. And then, rinse and repeat.

Jason leaned against the cold bathroom tiles and groaned. He felt like shit. His head was pounding and all the contents of his stomach were already in the toilet. He didn’t even know the time. He patted round his body, testing various pockets, and found his phone. He opened it, and stared at the notifications.

 

 **Matt:** _bitch, check in_

_3 missed calls from: Matt_

 

He remembered calling Matt. There had been that feeling, swimming in the pit of his stomach and the stuff he had done hadn’t been able to chased it away. So he had called Matt, called him to tell him how he felt, maybe to tell him he was a goddamn idiot, maybe to declare him his everlasting love, or to tell him they really, actually, seriously, needed to talk. But who knew anymore, really? Then when Matt had answered, Jason had found that nothing he wanted to say came out. Maybe it was because he’d been totally and utterly fucked up at that point, maybe there was more to it. But he ended up saying too little and too much, all at the same time.

 _I miss you,_ he had said to him.

 _You’re drunk as fuck,_ Matt had answered.

Jason had ordered a shot after that. And then another.

Jason stared at the notifications on his screen. He wanted to talk to Matt. Ask him all the questions he was burning to ask, maybe plead him to come to Atlanta this week, maybe even for a day before they’d be travelling again. Jason found that he could not, felt shame, guilt and that nasty, sticky feeling slithering into his body, mixing horribly with his physical pain.

He put his phone back to his pocket.

 _What the fuck was he doing?_ He looked around the strange bathroom, looked down at his hands, bruised from something he didn’t remember. The bathroom was dirty, stained white tiles and grimy porcelain. A fly was buzzing aroud in the dim light, swooping low and landing of Jason's arm. He swatted it away and furrowed his brow.

This wasn’t like him. It just wasn't. He wasn't supposed to be a person that woke up in dirty apartments with only distant memories from the night before. He wasn't supposed to be looking or feeling like this. This wasn't him. It wasn’t cute, fun, it wasn’t what he wanted to be doing. He didn’t want this.

Exhaling deeply, Jason collected his scattered thoughts, organized them in neat little boxes inside of his mind. This was the last fucking time, he decided. No more stupid stuff, he had a fucking legacy to build. He had to be fine. He was. He would be.

Jason stood up with great effort, carefully avoiding his own reflection in the mirror. He made his way to the bathroom door, just pressing on the handle when his phone started buzzing. Without glancing at the screen without even thinking, he pressed answer.

“Jason, what the fuck?” Matt’s lazy drawl, uncharacteristically high pitched, rang from the speaker. 

It took Jason a second to collect himself. 

“I was sleeping, bitch. Don’t be so loud”, he answered, trying to keep his voice low. It managed to make him sound like he really had just woken up, that he was just drowsy and hungover.

Jason leaned against the bathroom wall, pressing a finger to his temple. There was a silence, during which heard Matt shuffle around, then a door closing, he heard the creaking sound of the closet door, the one with a broken door Matt had never managed to fix. He heard footsteps on hardwood floors and the creak of a window being opened. It sounded like home. A small smile played on Jason's lips as he imagined Matt in his apartment, taking off his jacket in the afternoon sun, revealing bare skin. 

“Are you home? You seemed like you were pretty out of it when you called last night”, Matt asked and Jason could hear a hint of worry in his voice. The worry turned into guilt inside of him, gnawing at his insides. 

All sounds of movement over the line stopped. Maybe Matt was sitting down on his bed, unmade and sheets ruffled. Maybe he was perched on the window sill, curled up with his knees tucked to his chest, sun warming his face. He could see it so vividly, imaginary pictures projected on the stained surface of the strange bathroom.  _I wish I was there._ Jason’s heart did something funny and suddenly, he felt sick again.

He considered telling the truth. He wanted nothing more than to tell Matt he wasn’t home, he didn’t know why and that he felt a little like he was losing the grip on something. He wanted to talk it over, to put it in words. He opened his mouth to speak: “Matt, I need to-”

There was a rap at the door.

“Hey, Jason, was it?” A strange voice called out, rich, deep and very, extremely loud. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I need to get going so, if you could umm.. You know.”

Matt hung up before the stranger completed his sentence.

 

* * *

 

 

Jason was in Paris and he was losing his mind.

He was surrounded by beautiful people, warm lights and a gorgeous city. The parties were unbelievable, he got to work with high fashion models and everybody loved what he did. He was aware of all this, and he felt absolutely no joy over it.

He was on a balcony, watching as sunlight dimmed and a calm darkness started spreading over the ancient rooftops. His head was buzzing with the beginnings of a pleasant high, still not strong enough to get rid of the thoughts racing in his mind. In a minute all would be fine. It had to be.

He missed something, missed someone, but he wasn't going to say it out loud. He wasn't going to think about it, he really wasn't. Jason had absolutely no intention of spending time thinking about something so meaningless. He wasn't going to let the fact that he and Matt hadn't talked in a couple of days (weeks?) ruin this beautiful city for him. Because he was here and Matt was in New York (or LA?) and Paris was here, Paris was happening now.

He looked at the city, really looked at it. Tried to draw some sense of wonder from the view he had, the glimmering lights of the Eiffel tower, or the way shades of red danced on the ancient walls of the buildings. Paris was the most beautiful city Jason had ever seen and he hated it.

Jason leaned on the railing, deep in thought, when he heard the balcony door open. The music from inside was loud for a moment, returning to a distant sound of the bass as the door closed. Jason heard someone approaching. He glanced at the person from the corner of his eye, recognizing him as one of the male models he had worked with earlier tonight. He was like a sculpture, really. Skin marble, body lean and toned, clad in elegant, dark garment that oozed expensive. That signature french hair, dark, rich and curled.

He leaned to the railing next to him, brown eyes keen and interested and offered Jason a glass. Jason took it and sipped, tasting tonic and good gin. He savored the taste, but didn't drink any more. He wasn't in the mood for mixing booze into the mix tonight.

“Enjoying Paris?” the model asked, voice low and his accent prominent. His gaze was fixed on Jason, and his presence confident in an alluringly easy fashion.

“Haven’t had much time to explore it yet, but it looks nice from here”, Jason answered, returning his gaze to the city, now glowing with lights, the sun almost gone. There was a heavy warmth lingering in the air, full with fragrance and the distinct smells of a big city. A couple ran hand in hand on the street below, small as dots. Jason saw them pause, stealing a kiss from each other before continuing on their way.

The man next to him huffed out a laugh: “The city of love”, he purred. Leaning further to the railing, Jason turned his eyes towards the model. They locked eyes and shared a moment of silence, before the man turned to face him fully. There was a dark, sinister glint in his eyes. It wasn’t hard to guess what his intentions were, and Jason found himself smiling at the thought.

“Paris is beautiful at night”, the man said, smiling back at him, elegant in the orange of the street lights from below.

“Is it?” Jason smiled, feeling his head buzz and his heart thump. He was surprised by his own voice, confident and teasing. He took an instinctive step closer to the beautiful man, closing the distance between them.

“I could show you”, the man offered, very forward, leaning in and slipping a hand to rest at Jason’s waist.

Jason savored the feeling of his hand around him and pressed his face close to the other man, imagining he could press a kiss to those hazel eyes and turn them blue. He shivered as he felt the hand slip lower. Something inside of him ached. Slowly, drawing the moment out, he pressed his lips close to the man's ear, slowly breathing in his scent: “Thanks, but I’ve got someone waiting for me back home.”

“Really?” The low voice sounded in his ear. It was a word spoken in amused disbelief and Jason couldn't blame him.

“Really”, Jason said, in a tone that was strangely non-commited, and pulled away, turning to head back inside.

There was a hand on his, and a then, a pen scribbling a number on his wrist. Hazel eyes peered at him, surrounded by fluttering lashes, inviting.

“If you change your mind...”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jason had been in Paris for only a couple of days and he was losing his absolute, goddamned mind.

No, he was fine, he had to be.

He was alone in his hotel room. Orange light from the street lights flickered in through the curtains, playing in patterns on the white sheets of his bed. He was sitting on his bed, dressed in expensive black velvet and face painted to perfection. He didn’t know how long he had been there, staring into nothingness. He wasn’t in this room, not really.

He was high, and drunk, and very much on the shitty side of both, coming down in all sense of the word. The alcohol made him drowsy, but the pills made his mind race. The euphoria they had brought was long gone and the sickly feeling was settling back in.

Like a snake, that feeling slid across his skin, leaving prints on his every pore. It felt like something nasty, sticky was being slathered onto him. He wanted to wash it off, rub his skin until it was raw, but he knew it wouldn’t leave, not like that. The feeling just would not leave.

Images were playing in is overstimulated brain. Images of hands intertwined, bodies pressed together and a smile he could not make himself forget. Then, images of lips evading his, hands torn from his grip and messages that were still unanswered.

He had to be fine. This would pass. It had to.

He was walking towards an edge, a cliff. He was walking towards it like a magnet was pulling him in. Slowly, he was heading closer, aware of what he was doing but completely, utterly unable to stop himself. Was he fighting it? He had to be fighting it.

He wasn’t in this room, not really. He was in New York, watching the way droplets of water ran down Matt’s smooth skin. He was at a club, watching Pearl sink to her knees and catch a dollar in between her teeth. He was in Atlanta, laying down on his bed that still smelled like sex. Sex, and love. His hands were shaking.

In the end, it was all very mechanical. It was his eyes searching the room, settling on the best option. The dress falling to his feet in the bathroom. It was almost unconscious, an action performed without a single thought, metal sliding over skin, shallow lines appearing as it went.

The red ran down the inside of his thigh and seeped to the expensive fabric of his outfit, losing it’s color when it mixed with the black.

Just a few marks drawn. He was fine.

He had stepped over the edge and was falling. Not screaming, not scrambling for anything to latch onto, just falling. A void was opening to replace all the feelings residing in the pit of his stomach. It was eating him from inside, swallowing him whole. New York was gone, the club was silent and he couldn’t quite remember what his bed had smelled like.

He wasn’t fine.  
  
Jason wondered if it had always been so exhausting to move. His movements were slow, drawn out as he reached into the folds of the fabric at his feet, pulling out his phone. The room around him spun like crazy. He flicked the screen open.

He had to call Matt, make this stop. He had to make sense of this, make sense of all that had happened, all that was happening. Matt would know what to do.

His hands hovered over the call button.

Jason’s eyes slid over the instagram notification before he could press call. He clicked on it, the notification opening, playing in a loop without sound. He didn’t want to hear the sounds. Face emotionless, he watched the video of Pearl, _Matt_ , in a familiar club, dancing with some New York queen, laughing with his eyes sparkling with joy. He looked beautiful.

The orange lights of Paris flickered across his skin as he bandaged himself up and squinted at the black ink, faded on his left wrist.

It was like pressing the red button, the one you know will only cause the system to self-destruct. The one you were only told not to press. 

 **From Jason:** _would paris still be beautiful tonight?_

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

Sweat dripped down Matt’s forehead in glistening beads, mixing with the moisture already drying below his eyes. The last rays of the setting sun painted his living room walls with warm hues of red and his world quietly descended into a calm darkness. It was over.

His apartment looked like it was ravaged by a tornado. Everything that was breakable was in pieces, every single item that could be thrown was on the floor, colorful shards of glass littering the wooden floor.

Matt tried not to feel the trembling in his hands, the sting of a cut he got from a shattering plate or the burning in his eyes. The desperate rage that had taken over him just hours ago was now only a memory, only a dull ache in his muscles. It had taken him by surprise, the magnitude of his feelings, when he had unleashed them after weeks of avoidance. It wasn’t like him, this wasn’t like him, but the evidence of his actions stared right back at him from the floor in the shape of shattered porcelain.

As Matt’s breath evened, his mind also calmed, settling down. His buzzing thoughts quieted in time with his heart, it’s pounding rhythm finally returning to normal. There was a familiar, yet unsettlingly calm feeling slowly taking over his body. If he studied it closer, he knew it really wasn’t calmness, it wasn’t even really a feeling at all. It was numbness, total and overwhelming, a complete lack of emotions. Like poison, it was spreading from his head to his limbs, to his heart. It was like he was drowning in nothing.

His body slumped against the wall as he exhaled, the trembling breath stirring his apartment’s thick air. His eyes stared through the mess laid out before him, past it all, right at the white surface of his door. The door that he would be coming through at any moment.

 _Jason_.

Matt allowed himself this, this moment of pure numb misery, let his memory bring it all up. He heard sounds, Jason’s ragged breath mixed with dirty words spoken in a heavy accent and his moans of pure bliss. Sounds that had kept him awake even after he’d thrown his phone at the wall with full force. He saw Jason’s naked back, the back of his head full of dark curls, touched by hands that weren’t his own. He saw messages from an unknown person, blurry pictures of something that belonged to him, glistening through broken glass. Ones he couldn’t forget about even though he’d deleted every single one of them.

Matt idly wondered if he could smell it on him, if Jason would be covered in the scent of some unknown guy so much that it still lingered in his hair. Or were there marks? Bruises? Were there black and blue finger prints on his hips, waiting for Matt to find them? His mind wandered wild, exploring all the painful possibilities.

He wanted to know their names, he wanted Jason to tell him what they looked like, what he had liked about them. He wanted to know who was the first, he wanted to know if he was good and if he met him more than once. He wanted to say that he doesn’t really care, that they could be open and that he’d really like to do the same thing Jason was doing now, even though Matt knew that would be lying. He wanted to know why he had lied about loving him.

 _“This is a catastrophically bad idea”,_ he had said when they kissed for the first time. Matt liked to think he had been right all along, that he had always known it would end like this. He knew how the plot goes, anyways. That didn’t mean there hadn’t been a time when he’d hoped it could all end differently. That was what he was most ashamed of. He should’ve known better.

He watched the hues of red slowly morph into the oranges and blues of night against the door’s white paint, his mind slipping deeper and deeper into a state of nothingness.

 

* * *

 

 

It was 4am when the door finally opened. He saw Jason slip in, his lean figure appearing in the dim hallway, watched him fidget around nervously. He had a great view of him through his apartment, the light from the windows behind him illuminating the scene. In a world of blues and purples, Jason fit right in, like he was painted into the picture.

Matt felt like he was watching a movie he had already seen. He knew the twists and the tragic ending, he was prepared for it. There was no need to rush it, no need to race towards the inevitable, he still had a few blissful moments to just enjoy the ride. A handful of sinful seconds to admire the sight of someone who had ruined his whole, entire life.

Matt watched as Jason shuffled out of his jacket, and slowly, silently peeked through the bedroom door to check if he was sleeping. He saw him register the empty bed, saw the way his muscles tensed, his whole body seemingly preparing for what was to come. Jason closed his eyes, exhaled and took a few steps towards the living room.

It didn’t take long for Jason to notice him then, his body freezing up, caught off guard. In the seconds that followed, the state of the apartment seemed to hit him, his foot brushing a shard of colored glass. His gaze followed the trail of shards, from one broken thing to another. Black eyes were suddenly darting across the floors, taking in the scene of absolute destruction.

Finally, Jason met his gaze, his eyes burning with a well contained terror. They were on the same page now, Matt knew, there was no pretending, no avoiding this. The only difference was that Matt had already gone through the hurt, the fear, all the goddamned stages of grief. He came prepared.

After a long moment of stillness, Jason took a few wary steps forward. Matt saw him observe the situation, he saw the way his eyes searched for something that would give his intentions away. Matt had always been amazingly good at giving nothing, and he felt as blank as ever. Jason stopped at a good distance away from him, his lips trembling around the starts of sentences, but nothing came out.

Matt huffed, a humourless laugh, and he saw Jason flinch slightly. “Do _I_ really need to start this conversation? Do I really need to ask about it?”

Jason licked his lips, a nervous tick of his: “I don’t know what you mean.”

Matt felt himself smile widely, the joy never quite reaching his eyes. It felt satisfying, in a twisted way, finally confronting an issue head to head, knowing that for once, he held all the strings. He saw it in the way Jason guarded himself, how he was just slightly off-balance, and that gave Matt all the strength he needed.

“Really, Jason? Avoiding stuff has always been my thing”, he played casually with the hem of his t-shirt, still smiling to himself.

A siren blared from the streets below, colors suddenly flooding the white walls, painting Jason’s ivory skin with blue. Jason was like a cornered animal, eyes darting around for an escape, desperately trying to end the situation. He was quick to answer, voice forceful when he spoke:

“I really don’t-”

“Don’t you dare act like you don’t know what I’m talking about”, Matt interrupted, his tone still terrifyingly light.

A pause. He saw Jason forming his next move, saw his brain working on a way out of this. His breathing had quickened, and his right hand was gripping at the hem of his shirt right below his hip, knuckles white.

“Matt, let’s not-” Jason tried, but Matt cut right in.

“Let’s not what? Do this right now, is that what you’re saying? Is there a better time, do you wanna like, talk about this over a cup of coffee?”

No answer. Matt sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Where were you tonight? Your flight landed ages ago. Who were you with?”

Silence.

“You’ve got nothing to say?”

“Are we not going to talk about _this_?”

_Ah, derailing._

As he spoke, Jason gestured at the mess surrounding them, but Matt only smiled. Did he really think he could beat Matt at his own fucking game? Nobody was as good at not talking about things than Matt, nobody could manipulate conversations and shift blame as effortlessly. He knew what Jason was doing, and there was no way he’d let him get away with it, no way in hell. No amount of derailing was going to save him tonight.

“No, Jase.”

“Can’t we-”

“Who were you with tonight? Just tell me. Was the sex good?”

Jason’s face had gone blank, his breaths shallow. He really was a cornered animal, an animal Matt was shamelessly tormenting. It was almost pitiful, the way he searched for words to stutter out an excuse Matt had no intention of hearing: “Listen, I wasn’t-”

“You think I care, do you?”

Jason almost gasped at that, his breath hitching strangely, like he was in physical pain. Matt fell silent, letting his words sink in, letting the weight of what he said settle over them both. He watched as Jason realized what he meant; that this wasn’t going to be a conversation.

The colored glass made a sharp sound as Jason adjusted his feet, visibly trying to collect his thoughts. His gaze flickered to the broken things at his feet, a vase and an empty picture frame. Matt had no intention to let Jason get a hold of himself.

He stood up. Two quick strides and he was right in front of Jason, so close to the one thing in life that he held dear. It all felt so foreign now, being this close to him, like it all had happened ages ago. And Matt felt old, so old and weary, when he thought back to how young and stupid and in love he had been. Dark eyes cautiously watched his every move, like he was the animal now, a predator that could lash out at any moment.

Matt reached a barely steady hand to play with a strand of dark brown hair, moving his hand to stroke at Jason’s jaw. It felt dirty and wrong, to touch that beautiful skin like this. He liked to think there was nothing loving in his touch, but deep down, he still marvelled at the beauty of those features. A shiver ran through his body when he felt Jason’s hot, shuddering breath on his skin.

 _I love you,_ Matt thought and forced Jason’s face towards him.

A string of words burned on his tongue and he let them loose, words tumbling out of his mouth like a tide:

“Paris must’ve been fun. All those models and famous people, who am I really, when you start to compare? I don’t really blame you.” His tone was sweet, almost sincere, and he saw the way it affected Jason. He saw his expression break, saw his mind race, reaching for the right words to say back to him. There weren’t any right words, Matt was sure Jason knew it too. They were at a dead end here, this was something beyond repair. They were beyond repair, and the realization hurt like hell.

He felt his grip tighten, fingers pressing at Jason’s smooth flesh: “Yeah, I know about Paris. Your hot french fuck buddy made pretty sure I knew everything, I _saw_ everything. And it didn’t even stop there, did it? Did you enjoy Boston? That Chris guy, he was pretty detailed too when he told me how he fucked you in the bar bathroom last tuesday. Did you know he did drag? He was at my show this saturday, he’s your biggest fan. How fun is that? You’ve sure been busy for someone who wanted so bad to be excl-”

“Stop”, Jason said sharply and Matt instantly let go.

Jason's eyes were wide now, intense with feelings Matt didn’t care enough about to recognize. They were inches apart, breaths mixing, and Matt felt his chest tighten.

He really could do it. He really could destroy Jason right here and now, give him back every piece of the hurt he had caused him. He felt it in his fingertips, the power he had over him in this moment, _only_ in this moment. But that wasn’t how things worked.

“Jason…” He sighed, suddenly exhausted again, shaking his head. He reached a hand to brush at the nape of Jason’s neck, hand running through long strands of hair. A surge of emotions ran through him at the motion, despite his best efforts to keep them contained. It was a confusing mix of hurt and affection, of longing and disgust. It bled into his voice, made it break ever so slightly.

“I touch a guy once backstage and you freak out, but you get to fuck half of Paris?”

Matt heard Jason inhale sharply as he pressed his head to the crook of his neck,  felt him shudder at the feeling of his lips ghosting over sensitive skin. There was a stinging in Matt’s eyes and he pressed his forehead tightly against Jason’s skin to fight it.

“Those are some fucked up rules”, Matt murmured, snaking a hand to the small of Jason’s back. He brushed locks of hair behind Jason’s ear and let his lips travel slowly upwards. He traced the line of his jaw, planting a kiss at over the rapid beating of his pulse, finishing with a lick at his earlobe.

“What are you-” A breathless question.

“Don’t”, Matt murmured as he dragged his hands across Jason’s body, memorizing the feel of him. He studied every curve, traced his fingers over every inch. Easily, his hands found their way under Jason’s shirt, feeling warm skin. It was torture, but he couldn’t help but to marvel at the way he felt Jason relax in his arms, starting to respond to his touches. This was them. It felt right, the body in his arms familiar and safe. Matt felt himself smile, and turned in to breath in the scent of Jason’s hair.

And there it was.

He had seen this movie already, after all.

There was a sudden, bitter lightness in his chest. A choked sound escaped him,something between a laugh and a sob, and he instantly felt Jason stiffen in his arms.

“You don’t smell like you”, he said, words filling the empty air surrounding them.

A desperate hand was on his face, eyes locked with his, but Matt felt like he was miles away again. A small, fearful voice asked him: “Can’t we just go to sleep? We can talk tomorrow.”

He huffed a small laugh and drew in a full, easy breath. He shook his head, not really looking into Jason’s eyes. “No. We can fuck, if you want.”

Matt leaned in and kissed him lightly, his mouth silencing any protest. Jason didn’t really kiss back, just allowed himself to be kissed, parted his lips like he was resigning. As the seconds dragged on, it all poured into the kiss, the rage boiling deep inside Matt, the hurt he had buried away. He poured it into this one, last kiss, letting it burn him to the ground. There was no enjoyment, no love, in the way he bit Jason’s lip hard enough to draw blood.

Hollow words suddenly poured out of him, hot against Jason’s lips: “You thought you’d just come back to me. You thought you could just come and sleep in my apartment, in my bed, did you?”

Matt kissed him again, rough and unpleasant. Jason was weak, breathless against him, but he seemed to suddenly regain control of his body. Matt felt himself being pushed back, strong hands grabbing at the front of his shirt.

“I don’t wanna... Matt, don’t.” Jason spoke, turning his head to the side to avoid Matt’s lips.

“You don’t wanna fuck me?” Matt asked bluntly, teeth still nipping at Jason’s flesh, hands still grabbing at his hips with a bruising force. He leaned back to catch a glance of his face.

Jason’s eyes were wild, his lips trembled. All sense seemed to have left him, there were only his hands, clinging to the fabric of Matt’s shirt. “I-”

“Okay. Get out then.”

Matt let Jason go, ripped his hands away from his shirt and walked back to the window. He opened it, reaching into his pocket to take out a cigarette. It was almost broken in half, twisted in an odd angle, but it would do. Only after he had drawn a few deep drags of smoke into his lungs did he turn back to look at Jason, who still stood in the middle of the room like an abandoned puppy. Matt stared him down with empty eyes, looking through the expression of complete agony on his face. It was time for the movie to end.

“I said, get out.”

Another few breaths.

“Matt, please.”

Two words spoken so sincerely that it was almost uncharacteristic for Jason. He saw him reach a hand towards him, like someone pleading for mercy, almost like a small child. He saw the tears glint, unshed, in his eyes. There was something different about him, some truth he had never shown before. It almost broke him.

“Matt, I- I need to tell you something.”

Almost.

“Get. The fuck. Out.”

Matt almost flinched at the strength of his own voice. He saw Jason take a few startled steps back. This was how it ended.

Matt turned back to the window, fixing his gaze on the streets. His breaths, filled with smoke, rolled in and out of his lungs in a terrifyingly steady rhythm. He just had to wait for the scene to play out like it was meant to. He had made his move, now it was time for Jason to make his. He listened to fragments of muffled conversations from the street below, letting his eyes follow the groups of people moving through the morning mist. _Fuck, he was tired._

His cigarette had almost burned out when he heard Jason move. There were sounds of glass breaking under a shoe, of the heavy fabric of his coat and then, the muffled sound of an opening door. He heard a repressed sound and finally, words spoken, barely audible.

“I love you.”

All Matt heard was “goodbye”.

Then Jason was gone and it was so, so quiet.

The panic rose from inside Matt like a tide, drowning his every sense. He curled up on the floor, but no tears came. Only a void of dread that devoured him, made him unable to move, to breathe, to think. He lay still until the panic passed and a miserable feeling of weakness set in to take its place, forcing him into a disturbed sleep.

He dreamt of sunlight on marble, flecks of color moving against pale skin and woke up in terror.

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

Jason made a point of never asking the guy’s name, made a point of telling him to call her Violet. When they left the club together, he didn’t even bother to find Fame, just let the stranger lead him out and into a cab. In the darkness of the car he let his hands wander, he let himself be touched and it all felt so perfectly, horribly wrong.

When they reached his hotel room, Jason made his way to the mini fridge and downed a bottle of something strong. He paused, content in his dizzying high, and let all sense leave his body until nothing was sacred anymore. When sense left, the only thing it left behind was pure, unbridled intent, and a burning need for a moment of absolute control. He needed to feel in control.

Jason turned around, and crossed the floor in a leap, like an animal towards his prey. He crashed their lips together violently, letting out a shameless moan when the stranger gave back as good as he got. It was all teeth and desperation, and Jason found himself revelling in the taste of someone else, someone unknown. He drew the man closer, grinding into him and he gripped him back with bruising force, promising nothing gentle.

Gentle wasn’t what Jason was after.

Willingly, without a fighting it, he let himself go. With no regard to his own sanity, he let the all-consuming, desperate fire burning in his chest take over. It made him beg for more when he thought he couldn’t take it, made him lie just a little when he asked him if he was ready. It poured into the way he let himself to be completely, totally used, and formed into a pulsing, throbbing pain in his muscles. It was perfect, and so incredibly painful.

While the stranger paused as his gaze settled over the skin of his inner thigh, Jason didn’t. He forced the man’s gaze back up, flipped them over and reached down to align the man’s cock with his ass. He lowered himself on him, only barely managing to stifle a cry of pain, and leaned close.

 _“Make me forget”,_ he whispered, more a command than a plea, and the stranger, _his stranger,_ obliged.

The complete lack of pleasure in what he was doing was overwhelming, too much and still not enough.

He made a game out of making his pain look like bliss; he screamed out his hurt, let tears slip unnoticed from his eyes, all masked in a careful facade of false ecstasy. His own nails pierced his skin, drawing blood, his muscles were on fire, and he made it look like art. It was a delicate game, like playing with fire or something sharp, finding excitement in balancing on the edge on pain and blind agony.

Jason had left Matt’s apartment less than twenty four hours ago, but in a way, it felt like he had never really been there.

He didn’t call out Matt’s name. Not once.

The pain kept him company, even when he was finally alone, laying on his back on the floor of the shower, staring at the unnecessarily ornate ceiling of the luxurious bathroom.

Red swirled into the drain as his world steadily turned to monochrome, colors dulling. The sharp sting on his skin made the edges in his world softer, made the tension in his muscles release and made everything lighter. It was different kind of pain. It didn’t burn, it stabbed, didn’t excite him, but centered him, grounded him, just for a moment. The feeling of cold metal between his fingertips made him feel ridiculously powerful and for a moment, it was all he had.

Slowly, a welcome tiredness took over his body and with it, life became simpler, more bearable, for a tiny sliver of a second.

In his mind, he dressed himself and left, walked all through the city and opened the wooden door to that familiar apartment, finding Matt still standing where he had left him, smoking the same cigarette. He traced the route in the panels of the glimmering ceiling, every turn he would have to take. He imagined futures, thousands of possibilities, explored them calmly in the crooks of his mind, somewhat clear for the first time in forever. He imagined every single possible outcome of every possible action he could take, asked himself every single question there was to ask, but only found joy in that specific one.

_What if I went back?_

A simple thought, that suddenly made his body ache with longing.

He imagined it again and again, how the light would still be the same color, and the broken glass would still be there, scattered in formations across the aged wooden floor.

 _Help me,_ he’d say. Or _I think I’m losing my mind._ Or maybe just _I love you,_ or _I’m sorry._

He’d tell the truth. That what was what he wanted to do.

But instead, Jason pushed himself up from the floor, his muscles weak and trembling. He stood up slowly, grabbing the sink as his world threatened to go black.

He made himself look at his own reflection in the mirror, vision blurry, forced himself to follow the trail of darkening bruises forming patterns across his pale skin. Like a map, they trailed from the crook of his neck down to his hips, marking every inch of skin he had let be defiled. He hated those marks, hated the evidence the stranger had left on his skin. He despised them, loathed them, and adored them.

A stranger had been whispering heated words in his ear just an hour ago, but he felt like no one had ever thought he was beautiful. He was sure of it.

Jason made a point of not covering the bruises when he dressed. He hated them still, hated the way they shined against the ivory of his skin, but he made sure Fame saw them. He disgusted himself, but he made sure they were visible, when Fame filmed the two of them to his instagram.

Sense had left him, maybe for good, and the only thing left was pure intent. He had every intention of making it look like he was in complete control, even if it meant breaking the entirety of Matt’s stupid, arrogant fucking heart.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He had never seen Katya be scared, but she was scared now. Jason was out of his mind and he was scaring Katya.

She was pushing him back, clawing at his hands, trying to put some distance between him and her. There was a pair of determined, and so incredibly fucking serious eyes trained on Jason’s, and he tried to focus on them, he really tried.

“Mama, you know I love you and you’re the most beautiful lady on this whole entire planet, but you really don’t wanna do this. This is a bad idea, one of your worst”, she said. Katya voice was light, but the stern undertone wasn’t lost on Jason, not even through the fog clouding his vision.

It sounded so familiar.

_“This is a catastrophically bad idea.”_

That’s what he had said and he had been so _disgustingly_ right.

Jason dimly realized he’d been grabbing Katya, holding her close, whispering slurred words into her ear. What had he been saying? He also remembered yelling, (at Katya?) but he didn’t remember why.

He focused his gaze on Katya’s annoyingly sober eyes, and studied the troubled expression lingering on her face. He decided he hated it. It was the exact expression people get when they see a sick puppy, cute and sad, but already gross enough to be slightly repulsive. One they want to help, but not touch. Katya was saying something else, bright red lips moving, but Jason couldn’t really make out the words.

His body moved before his mind could catch up, his feet carrying him out of the cold outside air. In a matter of seconds, Jason found himself back inside the club. They were somewhere in Chicago, probably. At least he thought they were, he wasn’t really sure. All he knew was that there were lights flickering, sounds buzzing and people moving all around him and he felt somewhat alive.

He put on a smile, waltzed to the bar and ordered another drink. He bumped into Max, who rolled his eyes as he grabbed his arm and tried to shout something over the music. Jason remembered to laugh, wink at him, grab his arm and sway his hips. He lost himself in the sight of grey hair, moving bodies and flashing lights.

Then Katya was grabbing him again, even more forcefully, taking the drink from his hand. Suddenly they were somewhere quiet, but not outside. Bathroom? The smell of shit and a lingering undertone of pot filled Jason’s nostrils, and he tried to grab his drink back to drown it out. He whined as Katya poured the clear liquid straight into a sink before he could reach it. Then she turned around, her expression now completely serious.

“You need to slow down, baby.”

Jason hated it, hated the caution in Katya’s voice. He leaned back, bare skin touching the sticky wall and stared her down.

“What’s this, an intervention?” He asked mockingly, words more a slurred mess than a real sentence.

“I know, pretty rich coming from me, huh?” Katya almost joked, but her tone fell flat.

Jason threw his head back and laughed, but managed only to almost fall over in his heels. Katya placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, blue eyes peering at him from under a shaggy mess of blonde hair. Jason knew he was being evaluated, his condition checked by a pair of trained eyes. He didn’t bother to act sober, because his condition wasn’t Katya’s business in the slightest bit. And he was fine.

“Never imagined you to be a sloppy druggie, Vi. With that kind of mixing and matching, you know you’re well on your way to death city, honey. Cardiac arrest doesn’t joke around.”

“‘m fine”, Jason tried, but his words got tangled up.

“Bitch, you are not”, Katya countered, her tone unamused. “This is not what fine looks like, Chachki.”

But she was wrong, because Jason was fine, he really was. Finally, he was doing well. He really was doing completely, totally fine by himself, okay? In fact, he was perfectly in control of everything. He was exactly where he wanted to be, doing exactly what he wanted, and he was doing so, incredibly well and he didn’t even need Matt in his life, anyways, because he was totally fine without him. He barely even thought about that, about him, anymore, because she was doing, extremely, amazingly well, thank you very much.

And that’s exactly what he told Katya, but the queen’s expression only kept on darkening. She leaned close to his face, eyes sincere and spoke to him very slowly, as if he was a child:

“Mama, I can’t understand one fucking word of what you’re saying.”

“Fuck you”, Jason spat back, stumbling forward, and Katya caught him in her arms.

“Okay, that’s it. You’re coming with me.”

 

 

* * *

   


Katya had dragged him all the way back to their shared hotel room, effortlessly intercepting all of Jason’s efforts to escape. She had been staring at Jason for a while now, observing as he tried to unbuckle the clasps at the back of his top with poor results.

“A little help, Tallulah?” Katya asked, her voice tired.

Jason had been adamant in refusing all help at taking off his drag, but was giving up slowly. He finally nodded, allowing Katya to unbuckle the clasp. Then, without stopping to ask for permission, she got to work removing the tiny bobby pins from the depths of his tangled hair.

“You don’t have to”, Jason mumbled.

“I know”, Katya hummed, not pausing, fingers working fast at the pins near the base of Jason’s skull.

Jason gave up, letting Katya help him first with his hair, then with his earrings and finally throw him a couple of makeup wipes. Jason started tearing off his lashes and wiping at the red of his lips as Katya slipped into the bathroom to start on her own face. The door was left open and golden light poured into the ragged grey of the room.

As Jason’s world slowly became clearer, his grip on that precious control started slipping. His mind, minutes ago blissfully blank, started to wander. There was a familiar feeling of a void opening inside of his chest, his thoughts racing around. They centered, fixed on a small, miserable realization and suddenly Jason felt the urge to say it out loud:

“It’s my fault.”

Katya perked up, staring at him through the mirror. Her movements stopped, a slight confusion apparent on her features.

“What, цацка?”

When Jason didn’t answer, Katya walked back over to him, slipping her wig off and setting it down on the table. She stopped in front of him and waited, silently urging him to go on. Jason searched for a way to elaborate, but fell short. It was all so clear to him, suddenly so terribly clear, but there were no other words for it. He grabbed onto the hem of Katya’s dress, holding it tight.

“It’s my fault”, he repeated.

“Baby, I have no idea what you’re talking about, but it probably isn’t. At least, not completely.”

Jason shook his head. She didn’t understand.

“Why is everything so fucked up then? Why am I this fucked up?”

Katya stayed silent for a moment, looking down at him with her lips curved into a ghost of a sad smile.

“Sometimes things don’t have a reason for being fucked up.”

There was a long silence, an empty moment, and Katya’s words seemed to echo in the room’s musty air. Jason’s grip on Katya’s dress loosened as he felt a dizzying exhaustion bleed into his body. The blonde, wigless but otherwise still practically in full drag, noticed it and exhaled, stepping back. He gently detached herself from Jason’s grip.

“Let’s get you to bed silly goose.”

Katya offered her hand to him and Jason grabbed it, standing up. Katya silently helped him peel of his tight top and open the tiny clasp of his necklace. Jason struggled to peel off his skirt, almost falling over again and Katya carefully crouched down to help, maintaining a respectful distance. When the skirt lay in a bundle on the floor, Jason stepped out of the fabric, leaving him in nothing but his underwear. Seconds later, he noticed the way Katya’s face had dropped, the way she was staring, an uncharacteristically hesitant expression now lingering on her features.

Jason’s heart suddenly beat faster, and an invisible hand clasped around his throat. He sat down, and grabbed a blanket to his lap.

A minute passed, maybe an hour. Jason didn’t meet Katya’s gaze.

“...Jason? What’s going on?”

The silence was heavy between them, full of secrets laid bare, and Jason could feel something inside of him break. He was so, incredibly sober.

“Leave it”, he demanded, but didn’t recognize his own voice.

Katya was next to him now, sitting down on the bed. An awkward kind of empathy was radiating off of her, all very Katya, and Jason wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere. Katya’s thigh brushed against his just slightly, and the contact made his skin burn like it was doused with acid.

“I’m fine”, he weakly assured instead, maybe more to himself. He was fine, he always had been.

Katya’s voice was low now, her hand grabbing his in an uncharacteristically gentle way.

“This is most certainly not what fine looks like, in any way, in any sense of the word, Jason.”

A slight tremor ran through his body, and a hoarse whisper escaped his lips: “I’m sorry.”

“What’s going on? What happened?”

He couldn’t answer, he wouldn't. He didn’t know if he had an answer. He didn’t know what had happened, couldn’t explain it even to himself. It felt like nothing and everything at once and Jason had no idea what he was doing.

Katya’s hand pressed at his palm lightly as the silence stretched on, and finally her voice poured out into the air again, all soft and kind tones:

“Talk to me, sugarplum. Do you… do you need help?”

Jason felt his body slowly cave in on itself, his insides crumbling to a ruin, leaving behind a weak, helpless creature. It was a different kind of pain, and it did nothing to help him. It didn’t excite him, didn’t ground him, only tore at his insides like a crazed animal, waking up all the emotions he had tried so hard to kill.

He suddenly squeezed Katya’s hand back, gripped it like his life depended on it, and barely heard his own voice confessing:

“Yeah.”

In the morning, he left without a word before the break of dawn while Katya was still fast asleep, only to spend long, empty hours at the airport. In a crowd of people in various states of hurry, Jason was the only one with too much time on their hands.

Katya called him, texted him and called him again, and Jason kept staring at the notifications on the screen.

 **Katya:** _bitch, answer me_

 **Katya:** _i’m serious, brenda_

 **Katya:** _jason._

 **Jason:** _i’m fine_

 **Katya:** _i’ll call you every night, whore, make no mistake_

He didn’t answer a single one of Katya’s calls. After a week, she stopped calling.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, life is a struggle right now, but I've finished most of the remaining (six?) chapters, so in the future I'll probably be a bit less shit at updating. 
> 
> It's about three chapters of pure angst until we get back to the cute stuff. Bear with me.


	9. Chapter 9

 

If there was any feeling left in his body, Matt didn’t care to acknowledge it. There was no pain or sadness in his heart, not much of anything, really. But at least where there was no feeling, there was also no weakness. That was pretty much the only thing that kept him going right now.

Backstage was crowded, it was a big show, with so many queens that Matt didn’t even try to remember who were here. Many of the season 7 queens were present, and many other familiar faces were running around in all directions, desperately trying to get themselves ready in time. Matt was seated in the corner of the room, next to Max, who had already given up on trying to talk to him.

Max had tried, he really had. Matt had gone along with it first, engaging in the small talk, but then the questions came. They were subtle and kind as ever, Max knew how to do polite, but it didn’t help. Matt knew practically anyone with eyes would see through his poorly constructed facade tonight. He was having a bad day, and you didn’t even have to look hard to notice. He had seen the way Max looked at him, at the bags under his eyes, the smashed screen of his phone, the way he flinched at loud noises and how he took cigarette breaks every five minutes or so. After a couple of one word answers shot back at him, Max had stopped talking.

Matt concentrated in losing himself in the make up, blurring the line between reality and fantasy one carefully drawn line at a time. He was ready in no time, an advantage of ridding himself of the distraction that was talking, Pearl now perfectly alive on the surface of his skin. He admired her, her perfect, glamorous beauty, and his heart felt a little bit more at ease.

He almost considered turning and starting a conversation with Max. Matt almost had time to feel okay.

“Well, well, well, the devil herself, gracing us with her royal presence.”

Trixie’s voice cut over the general buzz of the room and Matt didn’t even have to look to know who had entered. He heard the clack of Violet Chachki’s heels, heard Jason’s voice answer to several excited greetings, and felt nothing.

_Where there is no feeling, there is also no weakness._

Matt’s body was numb, frozen in place and time, and he could only listen to the familiar patterns of speech thrown around in the air behind him. He heard parts of conversations, fragments sounding clear over all other noise and wished he was deaf.

“I texted you yesterday, you bitch”, Fame’s voice rang.

“Sorry, I was with someone”, was Jason’s unapologetic answer.

There was a whistle from Ginger’s corner, and then her voice, asking in a bitter undertone: “The winner gets her pick of boys, does she?”

Jason’s laugh, a small, smug sound and a smack of her lips.

“Pretty much. Oh, don’t be sad, Ginger, there’s always All Stars.”

A dramatic gasp.

“The bitch really just flows out of you, doesn’t it?” Trixie laughed.

“So I’m told.”

Finally, Matt looked at him. No, looked at her. It really wasn’t Jason, it was Violet, he decided. It was Violet and she was beautiful. She looked flawless, as always, all graceful smiles and easy confidence. In hushed conversation with Fame now, laughing at something Matt didn’t quite make out. But somehow, Violet also looked… _delicate_ , there was no other word for it. She looked smaller, and less… Just less.

And then she looked at him. From somewhere behind Violet Chachki, Jason looked at him and Matt wanted to disappear.

There was nothing delicate about those eyes. 

His body felt cold, more dead than alive, when he saw Violet brush past Fame and start towards his corner. Just like that, like it was nothing, she walked up to him.

Around them, people were turned back towards their mirrors, oblivious to what was happening. In their eyes, it was just Violet Chachki, approaching Pearl Liaison, and there was nothing more to it. Only Max was observant enough to see the way Matt’s demeanor changed, the way he gripped the table, knuckles white. Without saying a word, he subtly fled from his side in a flash of grey hair, abandoning his belongings to the table in his hurry to get out of the way.

Matt made a point of turning around to fix his makeup when Violet was near him, avoiding any possibility of eye-contact. She didn’t miss the cue, halting at a distance, eyes burning holes to the back of his head.

“Matt”, Violet spoke and Matt almost laughed, because of course, she sounded disgustingly composed. It was like she had walked up to him just to show him how much better she was. She was perfectly fine, and he wanted Matt to know.

Matt stayed silent for a while, fixing his face without looking at the other queen. The room buzzed around them, laughter and music vibrating in the air. Setting his brush down, picking up another one, Matt finally met Violet’s eyes:

“Hi… Violet”, he answered, voice reflecting the absolute lack of emotions he was feeling. It was a line drawn, a boundary set, a deliberate action he knew wouldn’t be lost on the other. “Did you need something?”

He saw the way his tone crawled under Violet’s skin. Nothing hurt her more than the feeling of being ignored, and Matt was the master of indifference. There was a furious glint in those dark eyes staring back at him, one Matt had seen too many times before. A raw, dangerous smile was playing on Violets lips, as she opened her mouth to speak.

Matt idly wondered if this was it, if this was the moment when Violet would finally destroy him, here in front of everyone, lay their every secret bare. Something  burned in the pit of his stomach, either fear or a sick anticipation.

A shrill shout carried over the chatter of the room:

“Pearl, we need you on stage in five!”

Matt immediately dropped the brush he was holding, took a last look at himself in the mirror and turned around. He looked through Violet, still standing, frozen in place. He looked through the violent anger in her eyes and brushed past her, trying not to shiver when his skin made contact with hers.

Matt didn’t feel, didn’t see, didn’t hear. As he climbed up to the stage, his world became a cacophony of sound. The shouts of the audience and the brightness of the stage lights filled his senses and he tried to let Pearl take over. Pretty, silly, quirky Pearl.

There was a violent undertone in his performance and he was aware of it. It burned through his usual laid back presence, and made his moves pointed, words sharp and eyes hard. The audience roared, felt the burn of his presence and fed off of his energy. A kind of self-destructive hatred coursed through Matt’s veins, burning. He had never performed like this. It wasn’t Pearl on the stage, it was Matt, and he was tearing all of his wounds open for everyone to see.

Except they didn’t, they never saw through the paint. No one could see through his facade, the shell that he called Pearl. Pretty, silly, quirky Pearl.

He was burning, burning ever louder, ever brighter. He didn’t know how long he would last before burning out, but he was determined to find out.

“What the hell was that?” Trixie laughed hysterically as Matt made his way off the stage, dripping with sweat. He didn’t care enough to answer. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

A week before they’d been due to leave, Jason had informed them he was going to ditch the tour. Michelle had been furious (to put it mildly), the other queens had been utterly shocked and Matt had never been less surprised. He hadn’t even bothered a tiny bit to act like he was as scandalized as the others, a detail that was thankfully missed by the wider audience.

Now, several weeks into the tour, Michelle still wasn’t over it, Adore and Courtney still talked about nothing else, Fame still refused to answer their questions about Jason and Matt, Matt was barely awake.

He had given up on trying to enjoy touring days ago, now navigating the tour life on autopilot. He spoke when spoken to, rehearsed his numbers just enough to get through them, put minimal effort into his appearance both in and out of drag. He only had food when they ordered it together and ate it without tasting anything. Matt did just enough to stay functional, enough to not raise suspicion. He was almost thankful about the scandalous exit Jason had made, because absolutely no one was paying attention to his behavior. That, and Matt was extremely good at pretending.

Smoke breaks were the bane of his existence, a chance to escape the constant buzz of the bus for just a couple of minutes. For what must’ve been the tenth time this day, Matt was sitting on a bench outside of the tour bus, quietly inhaling the smoke from his cigarette. The bus was now parked at a grimy parking lot next to their venue of the night, the fresh smell of rain mixing with the stench of gasoline. Everyone else had already made their way inside in a hurry to get ready, everyone except him and Katya.

They hadn’t spoken a word to each other, both opting to smoke their cigarettes in complete silence. Matt rarely started conversations anymore, but Katya usually talked to him (at him), diving into monologues about the deeper aspects of life. It was nice, really, just listening to her thinking aloud. Tonight, however, Katya was silent, almost pensive. Instead of talking, she was full of nervous energy, fidgeting and smoking two fags in the time it took Matt to get through one.

Matt had the eery feeling that Katya was dancing around something, had been for the past couple of weeks. Their otherwise pleasant smoke breaks had been haunted by a strange tension, evident in they way Katya sat, tense, brows furrowed, fingers tapping nervously on any available surface.

Still silent, Katya lit her third cigarette, and let out a frustrated huff. She shifted nervously next to Matt and he felt the question coming long before she spoke the words out loud:

“Have you talked to Jason recently?”

_Of course. Of course this had to be about him._

Matt could practically feel himself closing up, mentally already leaving the conversation. He flicked the ashes from the tip of his cigarette into a tiny puddle, watching the ash vanish into the water. He didn’t turn to look at Katya, as he simply answered: “No.”

“At all?” Katya continued, a strange, tight edge in her voice.

Matt could tell something was seriously troubling her, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to talk about him, not about this, not ever, not with anyone, not even with Katya. It had happened, they had happened, everything had happened. And then everything had ended. No one needed to know to the whats whens and whys. Those secrets were ones that Matt would take to his grave.

He didn’t want to talk about him, he didn’t want to think about him, he didn’t think he could bear to hear his name one more time.  

So, he shook his head, and Katya fell silent. Her body was rigid, and Matt could practically hear her brain going into overdrive, contemplating on something.

Matt hadn’t talked to him, that was true. He hadn’t been in any contact with him, but it was like Violet followed him everywhere. Matt couldn’t escape her online, not during shows, not in the tour bus, not even in his sleep.

Instagram was his own, personal hell now, Violet’s perfect face plastered everywhere he looked. Whether it was Fame’s stories, of Katya’s feed, Violet was everywhere. It killed him how it seemed almost deliberate, the way she acted in videos, like it all was a show put on just for him. There were shows, parties, photoshoots, gigs and men, so many men. It was all very Violet and Matt hated it from the bottom of his heart. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t avoid Violet.

And now, she had invaded his holiest moment.

Matt took a painfully long drag from his cigarette, smoke filling his lungs, and glanced at the queen next to him. Katya kept on fidgeting, fingers tapping rhythms on her thigh, glancing cautiously around. Suddenly, she stopped and inhaled sharply, seemingly coming to a decision. She cleared her throat, leaning closer to Matt.

“Listen, I have to tell you something about him that I…” She started, tone serious and Matt was absolutely not going to let her finish.

“I don’t wanna hear it”, Matt interrupted, throwing the rest of his cigarette into the puddle, the burning tip hissing as it made contact with the liquid. He fixed his gaze on the oily surface of the water, glistening in metallic shades of purple and green.

Katya’s hand was suddenly on his wrist, pulling him towards her with a strange intensity. He barely avoided her eyes, only getting a second’s glance at the worried expression plastered across her face.

“No, Pearl, really-” Katya started again, her brows drawn into a serious line. It was a strange look on her, worry.

“I said I don’t wanna hear it”, he persisted, trying to pry his hand away from Katya’s grip. He stood up, determined to walk away from those piercing blue eyes and her worryingly serious tone.

“Matt-”

“Don’t”, he snapped, and Katya let go.

Matt had always been good at pretending, and right now, pretending he didn’t care was the only thing still keeping him together. He could not let himself slip, not now, even though his heart screamed with the desire to know. He could not let himself care. So, he rubbed a hand across his face, sighed and turned to look at Katya.

Her jaw was clenched, a desperate kind of tension visible in every inch of her body. They shared a still, silent moment and Matt couldn’t hide the pained expression taking over his features.

Katya’s cigarette was burning out, forgotten between her pale fingers.

“Katya…” Matt breathed, something between an apology and a plea. _Please don’t let him take this away from me,_ Matt thought and it almost felt like she understood.  

Katya stayed still for a moment, then stood up quickly, tossing the cigarette over her shoulder. She walked to Matt’s side, and quietly laced their fingers together, sealing the quiet, bitter understanding. It felt oddly comforting, Katya’s freezing cold hand in his own.

“Come on Pearly, we have a show to get through”, she mumbled, voice low, defeated.

Matt squeezed her and followed her inside.

After the show, in the small hours of the night, Matt finally gave up. He stayed up in the darkness and spent hours wondering what Katya would have told him if he’d let her finish. He created thousands of scenarios, studied every picture of Jason he found, searching for an answer. He studied Jason’s face, his perfect, perfectly familiar features and allowed himself to fade away a tiny bit more. He kept on watching videos of Violet, beautiful, enchanting Violet, until he heard the sounds of the others waking up.

When Matt finally slept, all his dreams had turned into nightmares, rich with a specific shade of crimson.

 

* * *

 

 

Pearl disappeared from his skin excruciatingly slowly.

It had been the longest fucking day in the entirety of Matt’s life, and his grip on his well-constructed routine of appearing like a normal human person had slipped like a mothefucker. He hadn’t been able to eat, not even after Alaska had prodded him about it, and he had barely gotten himself dressed and onto the stage.

Matt was alone, sitting in front of the mirror of his private dressing room and everything was just _too much._

The air conditioner hummed in the background, the only noise in his small room, but for some reason, it sounded overwhelmingly loud. Matt felt hot, too hot, and the way the foundation clung to his skin drove him crazy. He wanted to get out of the clothes scratching at his skin, he wanted to be somewhere else, but his mind and body refused to cooperate.

For several minutes Matt had tried to find the motivation to lift his hand to wipe off the traces of eyeliner from his face, but he found himself unable to move.

The humming in his ears was loud, so loud, and he felt every fibre of his dress scraping against his skin. He leaned his face into his hands and gave up, waiting for everything to fall apart.

Matt waited long minutes for the panic to rise, to engulf him, but the feeling never came.

His mind was blank.

There was only that everlasting, lingering feeling of emptiness, gnawing at his flesh from the inside. It ate away at his heart, at his mind, taking away all of his will to move, his sense of place and time. There was no now, no future, only the tide of dull hopelessness he was drowning in.

_Where there is no feeling, there is also no weakness._

A blatant lie. Weakness was all there was.

The only thing he could hope for in that moment was to have the power to simply stop existing.

Matt lost all sense of time, only distantly being aware of the fact that he probably had somewhere he needed to be, something he needed to do. Only, he couldn’t for the life of him remember what it was. There was only the humming in his ears and the emptiness in his chest.

He barely registered the knock on his door, or the sound of that door opening.

“Pearl, I absolutely did _not_ give you a private room for you to be thirty minutes late. Pack up queen, the bus is leaving.”

A familiar voice, irritated. It took enormous effort to recognize who it was, to remember where he was, who he was.

“Pearl? Hello?” Michelle’s clearly annoyed voice rang through the room, but Matt couldn’t make himself react.

“Matt?”

Matt stirred a little at the sound of his name, raising his foggy gaze to meet Michelle’s eyes. His muscles ached. There was a scrutinizing look on Michelle Visage’s face as she took a few wary steps forward and spoke again, now more gently: “Is something wrong?”

A few silent seconds passed and the look on Michelle’s face slowly turned into alarm. Matt didn’t like it, decided it didn’t suit her. He wanted to tell her he was okay, that he was just a little tired and he’d be at the bus in five. 

What Matt did, instead, was burst into silent tears.

Michelle only took a second to react, and then she was on him, leaning close. “Hey, hey hey… You’re okay, honey. Come here”, she whispered, her arms enclosing him in a tight embrace

Matt didn't really have the energy to cry, the tears were just pouring out of him against his will, without a sound. His body was limp, tired, skin pressing painfully against the edge of the table. He was only emptiness and exhaustion, the only proof of his existence being the warmth of the tears that refused to stop falling from his eyes.

Michelle kept talking, whispering words Matt didn’t hear or understand.

Long moments passed, and slowly, his sense of self returned, with it coming the realization of the situation he was in. He found his eyes staring at the cracked surface of the yellowed wall, felt his hands resting on the sticky surface of the table. He became aware of black hair sticking to his damp cheek. Emptiness gave way to shame. 

Finally, Matt regained control of his body and sat up, wiping at his face. He shook his head, and faced the scrutinizing gaze of Michelle. He dimly realized he probably owed an explanation, searched for an easy lie, but came up with nothing. What could he say, really?

Finally, it was too much for Michelle: “Matt please explain what is happening, or I can’t help you”, her firm voice pleaded. She was eyeing every inch of him, and Matt had an idea what she feared.

“You can’t”, Matt finally spoke out loud, shaking his head lightly. There was a pause, a looming heaviness over the pair of them. “You can’t help, not with this.”

“Is this… is this something serious?”

“No”, Matt answered and it was the truth. This was nothing serious, just pathetic. So fucking pathetic.

“Are you having problems with drugs? Alcohol? Sleep? Just tell me and I can… ”

“Michelle, it’s nothing like that, it’s-”, he trailed off.

_Pathetic._

“What’s wrong baby?” Michelle persisted, pleaded, concern clear on her face. She reached a hand out to hold Matt’s, a stupidly fond gesture, like she didn’t hate his lazy, tired guts to her core. He looked at her, really looked at her features, and shook his head.

“I can’t tell you. I’m so sorry, but I just can’t.”

Michelle gave up, in the end.

She patronized him through the next few weeks of the tour, her attention fixed on him at all times. Matt played his part, made his body move, made himself eat, got on stage and performed and it did become easier. Very slowly, but still. At least he wanted to believe so.

It was like he had survived the end of the world, but lost everything in the process. All he had was his life and he had absolutely no fucking idea what to do with it. So, he let it revolve around the smallest of things, because that was all he knew how to do. He focused the fact that he was alive. Or the fact that life went on, or some other cliché. At least he was surviving and this was nothing serious, not really.

It wasn’t his fault that some days, just very rarely he simply forgot to eat breakfast, or accidentally crossed the street without looking from time to time. The same way, he sometimes forgot exactly how many painkillers he had already taken, or if he had taken some before going out to drink.

These things, they just innocently slipped his mind.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you best believe i said i'd be better at updating and then took over a week to post the next chapter
> 
> srry ily and happy holidays


	10. Chapter 10

 

New York City made Jason afraid in a completely new way. 

There was a dread swimming around the pit of his stomach, making his heart jump every time he saw someone with blonde hair walking in the distance. He pressed his fingernails painfully hard into his own skin every time he walked around a corner, fearing the worst. His heart almost stopped every time he saw someone in a fur jacket that looked a little bit too familiar.

Jason found himself in some new, fancy club, with some new, fancy people he had just met. He had every intention of drinking himself so far into oblivion that he could forget that he was in fact, in New York for the first time in forever. He had survived for a good three days without running into that one, specific person he was dead set on avoiding, and he almost dared to hope he’d be lucky enough to escape back to Atlanta with the remaining crumbs of his sanity.

He was in full drag glory, all tight clothes and leather, with people that hardly knew him and knew nothing about his personal life, doing his best to stay as far away from anything to do with being Jason. No questions were asked, no inquiries were made, they all were just chasing the bliss of being utterly, completely shit-faced. It was a perfect situation, really.  

Jason was in the process of ordering his third (Fourth? Fifth?) drink, a relaxed smile beginning to form on his face, when a voice boomed over the music:

“Jason, you absolute bitch! “

A surge of dread shot through him, his swimming head taking a few extra seconds in recognizing who the voice belonged to. Turning around on his heels, he saw Fame emerge from the crowd, looking as fabulous as ever.

And of course, with him were some nameless, pretty people, drag queens and models, and Jason couldn’t walk away, he couldn’t escape. He was hugged, his hand was shaken, there were introductions and Jason was irritated. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Fame, but meeting him didn’t really fit into his carefully constructed plan of drinking his way to his grave. It was too personal, too familiar and Fame was far too interested and far too sober.

“Where the fuck were you yesterday? I tried to call you, I wanted to go out!” Fame’s tone was accusing, but Jason didn’t have the energy to be ashamed.

“Shit, I forgot to call back, sorry babe”, Jason lied easily, grabbing Fame’s hand in a weak attempt at an apology and added: “I’m here now!”

“Oh, Vi, you’re not gonna believe who’s here with me!” Fame started right away, eyes gleaming with excitement and Jason’s body started to tremble.  _ Fucking great. _ It was just what he needed, another familiar face to put up a show for, or maybe some celebrity Fame just had to introduce him to. Maybe it was the whole cast of season 7, he couldn't care less. 

“Well?” He choked out, his face morphing from a smile to something more akin to a grimace. Fame shook his hand enthusiastically, like a child revealing the best, biggest secret.

He practically screamed the name, pointing furiously towards someone father off, and it was like a dagger thrust right into Jason’s heart.

“It’s fucking Pearl! Matt’s here!”

And there he really was.

Matt in all his beautiful boy glory, sitting at a table on the other side of the club, hair messy and expression unbothered. It was that distant expression Jason knew always meant that he hadn’t really wanted to go out in the first place, but had still ended up going and that he hated every second of it. It was something that had amused him once, something he had teased Matt about.

_ You don’t know how to say no,  _ he had always said. Matt had hated it.

He was unbothered, calm and so, so familiar. If Jason’s world suddenly turned just a little bit brighter, it wasn’t because of Matt.

He hadn’t seen him in months.

Through the club, through the crowd between them, Matt’s eyes were suddenly on him, the recognition breaking the empty expression on his face for just a split second. It was a trembling of his lips, a shiver running through Jason’s body, and then, in a whirlwind of excitement, Jason was dragged towards his table.

People were talking, but Jason didn’t hear them, because there he was, Matt, suddenly only inches away. Thankfully, Fame was as oblivious as ever to the fact that between Matt and him, only a hollow, empty greeting was exchanged. A formality that made Jason’s skin crawl.

“Look at us, all in the same club! “ Fame exclaimed cheerily, pulled on Jason’s hand and sat him down next to him, turning his gaze towards him. “What are you doing here, who are you with, what’s going on? Tell us everything!”

Jason answered something, not a lie, but not the whole truth either. He mentioned a gig, some projects he was working on, keeping his answer short and vague. He asked something from Fame, a distraction to steer the conversation away from him and instantly, Fame launched into an endless story of a photoshoot and a gig, and his and Matt’s mutual friends and how he had made a plan of taking all of them out on the same night. Jason half listened, most of his concentration focused on trying to not look at Matt for too long.

He looked tired, distant in a way Jason had rarely seen. His white t-shirt was clinging into the curve of his shoulder, revealing his collarbones, and Jason was overwhelmed with the memory of pressing his lips against it. He heard the echo of Matt’s voice in his head, a ghost of his touch against his skin. Jason cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the pressure that suddenly gripped at his throat, suffocating.

He tried to concentrate on Fame, who was still talking, only pausing to sip at the soda in his hand from time to time: “It took all my energy to get all these people out and about. Especially Matt, he took some serious convincing, he hasn’t been out in months. Really, I had to practically drag him out from that apartment of his!”

Matt shifted uneasily, avoiding Fame’s gaze. Jason took a big gulp from his drink.

“How lucky is this! I mean, how long has it been since you last saw each other?” Fame asked excitedly, proud of himself, and it was almost endearing.

Or, it would’ve been endearing, if it wasn’t for the silence that fell between the three of them. The absence of an answer spoke volumes, and the air was suddenly filled with a hostile kind of electricity. Fame’s gaze shifted between the pair of them as he suddenly seemed to sense the tension surrounding them. Matt was still looking away, Jason played with the straw in his drink. He felt like throwing up.

Seconds passed.

“Uhhmmhh… Am I, um... missing something?” Fame’s asked finally, gaze still flickering between the pair of them, like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

The silence stretched, only the beat of the music filling the empty air.

Matt cleared his throat, and a sudden, panicked buzz ignited inside of Jason at the sound: “I’m going to grab another drink“, he exclaimed loudly, and rose to his feet. No one protested, not even Fame, whose lips were parted in confusion, puzzled at the revelation that Matt and Jason were in fact _not_ happy to see each other. The world swayed a little as Jason walked away from them, reminding him that he really was, in fact, a little tipsy already. He wasn’t nearly as drunk as he suddenly needed to be. He felt two pairs of eyes drilling holes into his back as he walked. 

He ordered two shots and a vodka cranberry, downing the shots right away. He grimaced as the alcohol burned his throat, and went through all possible excuses he could use to get out of this miserable fucking situation. His eyes wandered, trying to find a distraction, something, anything.

He considered just leaving, disappearing, but that wouldn’t be lost on Fame. He wasn’t ready for the questions, wasn’t ready to try to lie his way out of that conversation, or least of all to actually explain anything. And also, in a way, it would mean letting Matt win. It would mean letting him know he cared. That, he just couldn’t do. If everything else had changed, the fact that Jason hated losing still remained.

He let out a heavy, exhausted breath and sipped at his drink like it was water.

“Someone’s looking to get wasted”, a stranger's low voice purred from his left side, and it was like his prayers had been answered. 

There was one thing Violet Chachki was good at, and that was putting on a show. That was exactly what Jason decided he needed to do.

Jason turned around, heels sliding against the grimy floor and met the stranger’s gaze. Piercing green eyes stared at him, as he took his time to check the man out. A slight stubble across his jaw, jet black hair, length enough to match him even in heels and a good build. Jason pursed his lips, leaned subtly closer to him and cocked his head, a slight smile spreading across his lips. He could work with this.

“Still not happening fast enough”, he complained, voice low and whiny, catching the straw of his drink between his teeth. He was deliberate, teasing, making his intention known. The bright red lipstick left marks on the white plastic. He saw the way the man’s green eyes drank his body in, enjoyed the sensation of being adored.

_ Problem fucking solved. _

The man leaned a bit closer, voice low: “I could help you with that”, he murmured, patting his pocket, lips drawn into a sly smile. They shared a look of mutual understanding, one that made made Jason let out a small sigh of blissful content.  _ Even better _ , he smiled to himself, feeling a buzz of reckless excitement nip at his skin.

Jason studied him, weighed his options for a moment. Deciding, he let his hands slide across the surface of the table to gently touch the man’s wrist. He played with the sensitive skin, scraped a nail across it, leaving the faintest mark. He flutter his lashes and shifted closer. “Would that cost me?”

The man cocked an eyebrow, eyes darkening, sliding his finger up the inside of Jason’s arm. “Depends”, he whispered and turned to walk away. He threw a suggestive glance over his shoulder, an invitation, and resumed walking, seemingly confident that Jason would follow. He wasn’t wrong.

Only briefly, Jason turned to look back towards Matt and Fame’s table. Fame’s gaze was turned towards him, brows furrowed as he regarded him, but Matt was turned away, looking as uninterested as ever. He hesitated just slightly, waited for a moment, for something, maybe just a glance back, but Matt didn’t move. Jason bit his lower lip, then downed his drink, smacking the glass against the table, and turned to follow the stranger through the faceless crowd.

In the darkness of the bathroom corridor, the man offered him a round pill, hand lingering on his skin as he passed it to him. Jason didn’t stop to think for a second before flicking it into his mouth. He stared into green eyes, feeling his heart beat faster with the knowledge of the coming high. Soon, everything would be blurry and pleasant, his life, his friends, Matt. He felt a smile creep up his cheeks and threw his head back to revel in the excited anticipation taking over his body.

“Planning on going hard tonight, gorgeous?” The man’s voice purred from somewhere near to him. Jason lowered his gaze, offering the man a devilish smile. He didn’t bother to answer, just inhaled deeply and took a small step closer to the heat of his body. “It’s good stuff”, the man whispered, hands suddenly ghosting over the curve of Jason’s ass. The stubble of his beard scraped against his cheek, and the world was on fire.

“Better be”, Jason shot back. He breathed in the scent of the stranger’s skin, his hair, letting him fill all of his senses.

“How about you give me something in return?” The man spoke into his ear and pulled back just slightly, face looming above Jason. He looked good,  _ good enough _ .

Jason grabbed him by the neck and pulled him into a scorching kiss.

It was nothing but teeth and burning passion, fingers digging into flesh and Jason quickly lost track of time. He felt his makeup smear across his chin, felt the raw sting of his beard scraping against his cheek. A hand snaked it’s way up his thigh, igniting sparks of pain, not stopping and Jason let out a gasp. Moments later, the hand was moving against the lace of his panties, torturing, and Jason felt warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach. He felt alive.

He was being pushed against the wall, pulled closer, torn completely apart. The man moved his mouth to his neck, and Jason’s breath hitched, his eyes snapping open.

His eyes locked with Matt’s piercing blue eyes, glimmering in the dim light.

Matt was staring at him, standing at the end of the corridor. There was a whole lot of nothing reflected in his eyes, as he watched them, his face completely emotionless. He watched as the man continued to kiss Jason, just kept on staring as his breaths grew ragged, his eyes growing hazy with lust. The lights of the dance floor traced patterns across Matt’s pale skin and he was beautiful. In a reckless rush of indifference, Jason couldn’t stop himself from imagining the hands on his skin were his, Matt’s gentle, loving hands.

The stranger’s hand traced the outline of Jason’s half-hard cock and a soft moan of pleasure escaped his lips, almost in the form of a name.

Matt turned and walked away.

Everything that happened after that was a blur.

There was a door closing, breaths mingling, a surge of sudden ecstasy and a high that took over him like a tide. The force of it almost made Jason concerned, almost, but then there were hands on his skin, several of them, a new pair of eyes on him, a taste of another stranger’s lips.

Violet’s confidence was coursing through his veins, her confidence and Jason’s self-destructive rage and it was a terrifying, dangerous mix. Jason loved it.

“Let’s have some fucking fun, for once!” He laughed to Fame at some point, took his hand and pulled him to the dancefloor. Fame looked only a little unsure.

He became less and less aware of his surrounding, lights and sounds melting into a steady background of muffled sensations. The only thing he was still aware of was that he was so close to Matt, so fucking close to him and his perfect, controlled life. So Jason drank a little more. A strange hand snaked around his waist again, and he threw his head back, exposed his neck for the kisses of someone he didn’t care about. There had to be a way to forget.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t forget.

In between touches and kisses, he stole a glance at the general direction of Matt, just to see if he had left, not knowing if he hoped to see him or not. Still, there he was, sitting at a table, comfortably talking with someone Jason didn’t know. Movements calm, lazy, so casual that it felt like mockery. It felt like every sip of he took from his drink was just another way to tell him how incredibly little he cared.

Suddenly it all made him sick to his stomach. The world spun around him, faces became unrecognizable, every single touch reminding him how little control he had left. A real, physical sensation of nausea took over his body, drowning every remnant of his enjoyment that still remained. The drink he was holding dropped from his fingers and he was pushing past crowds of people.

He was falling.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still shit at updating, still sorry as fuck about it, but the next chapter really is done. It'll be up in a few days. 
> 
> This is not the best chapter, I know, but I had to get it done. 
> 
> Also, get ready for some of that good confrontation, that's next on the list.


	11. Chapter 11

 

Matt had bolted. Fucked right out from the club, hiding himself in an alleyway, smoking what felt like a pack of cigarettes. He had seen enough, two bodies intertwined in a grimy bathroom corridor, lust in dark brown eyes, and he was fucking done. He was done, over it, ready to go home. 

And then he had returned.

He had walked right back, plopped himself back to the seat opposite of Kurtis, who was more confused than ever and initiated a conversation, something he hadn’t done much of during the last couple of hours. He had deliberately looked over to the dancefloor to see Jason, already with a new guy, grinding and kissing, and felt his whole body ache.

Matt really wasn’t sure why he didn’t leave. He tried to reason that he stayed just for Kurtis, or someone else he had come to the club with. He tried telling himself it was a dare, a chance to prove to himself that he was actually doing better, that he was doing alright. He tried telling himself he wanted to prove something to the people around him, to that one person in particular.

But, maybe he just enjoyed the torture.

Fame was dancing now, having fun with the rest of their mutual friends, but Matt didn’t want to enjoy. He didn’t want to be a part of anything, he didn’t want to partake in whatever the fuck it was that Jason was doing. He didn’t want him to think he gave a damn about it.

So Matt watched. He watched as Violet moved, walked around with that easy confidence, lived her own, fabulous life. She was the main act and, Matt, he was a spectator. He was just another member of the audience, eyes glued to the show that was Violet Chachki. It was Violet, not Jason, he decided again, just to stay sane.

It was a great show.

He made sure Violet never noticed, made sure his head was turned away whenever she turned to look. It was his own kind of show, a delicate one, the act of seeming indifferent. He was brilliant at it.

Matt kept his show up, as Violet kept up hers. She touched, drank, kissed, drew everyone’s attention to herself as Matt was doing the exact opposite. Matt stole glances, saw as Violet twirled around the dancefloor, watched her kiss one strange man after another, watched her down more shots that he had ever seen her drink before. In his own corner of the club, in his own, sad corner of the world, Matt was doing just fine.

As the night went on, the show got suddenly stranger. There was a recklessness in Violet’s behavior, that made him feel uneasy. It wasn’t unlike her, the confidence, loudness, the overwhelming drama in everything she did, but it was starting to go overboard. Matt knew him - _her  -_ well enough, to notice the smallest things. A feeling of worry started to prick at Matt’s skin. Something was just… wrong _._

But luckily, Matt didn’t care. He reminded himself of that fact, repeatedly, again and again.

Until he suddenly cared. A lot.

He was turned away, almost talking to one of Kurtis’ friends, candidly observing the dancefloor, when he saw Violet fumble, lose her footing in a way that made his breath catch. A kind of uncertainty swam into the way she held herself, and Matt saw her pause for just a moment.

Less than a second of stillness and it was like a facade was dropped. It was a moment’s flash of something real, darting eyes and a shuddering breath, then, glass shattering as the drink she was holding dropped from her hands. Something was _definitely_ wrong.

Matt saw her turn around and push through the crowd towards the bathrooms. He waited for someone to follow, for one of her friends to go after her, but no one seemed to pay mind. A few glanced at the glass shattering, but turned away as they saw Violet bolt. His body was rigid as he watched her disappear, movements unsteady, but no one cared. In a flash of something, a feeling he didn’t care to examine closer, he felt himself stand up.

Matt almost heard Kurtis calling after him as his feet took him across the dancefloor. Almost turned around and returned when he felt his hand clasp the handle of the bathroom door, but he didn’t. Despite his best efforts, he cared.

The bathroom was oddly deserted, only a pair of guys exchanging heated touches in the distant corner. Words and signatures littered the bathroom’s white walls, confessions of love, phone numbers, dates and names. It smelled like sloppy bathroom blowjobs and vomit.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out where Violet had gone, a sliver of pale skin visible from under a stall.

Matt hesitated, glanced nervously around. He didn’t know what he was doing, but right now, he didn’t care. His mind still blank, he leaned close to the stall door and listened. There was no sound, only the dull drumming of the bass sounding through the walls. A stupid collection of all the horrible things that could have happened flashed through his mind and he felt himself call out:

“Violet?”

Silence. The two other people in the bathroom quietly left, trading kisses as they went. 

“Jason?” Matt called again, but no answer came. He pulled on the door and it swung open, unlocked, revealing a disheveled Violet slumped against the bathroom wall.

It wasn’t a pretty sight. The queen’s impeccable makeup was smudged, hair falling in untidy curls, sticking to the skin with sweat at her temples. She was breathing short, shallow breaths, eyes closed. She looked miserable. The feeling of worry swam back to Matt's head at the sight of her.

“Jason?” Matt repeated, softly, and Violet’s eyelashes fluttered as she opened her eyes, looking up, dazed. She held his gaze for a moment, noticeably struggling to keep her eyes focused, and abruptly turned away, leaned over the toilet bowl, vomiting violently. At that, Matt shuffled himself inside, closing and locking the door behind him. He crouched beside her and reached forward to hold Violet’s hair as she continued retching.

“Don’t”, Violet hissed weakly, before heaving over the bowl once more and Matt withdraw his hands. He sighed, slumping against the wall opposite of her. Violet- no, Jason - breathed heavily, the retching seemingly coming to a halt, moving back to his previous position against the wall. The music echoed bluntly through the bathroom, muffled by the walls and the chatter of people in the hallway just outside only a dull background noise in the dimly lit bathroom.

“You okay?” Matt asked, his voice quiet, worried, just audible over the distant sounds.

“...fuck you”, Jason mumbled, words slurred together, his head falling forward.

“No I’m serious, Vi. What’s going on? How much have you been drinking?” Matt persisted, voice blunt. “I’m worried”, he added, to soften his words.

“You don’t get to be worried”, Jason shot back, surprisingly sharp, his eyes snapping to meet his.

Matt studied him. His gaze was still unfocused, breathing shallow, his movements unpredictable. Something was off, had been for most of the night. Matt had seen Jason drunk, from tipsy to shit-faced and this was not it. And then it dawned on him.

“What did you take, Jason?” He snapped, his tone serious. Jason remained silent, maybe fighting another bout of nausea. “Answer me. What are you on?”

Jason avoided his gaze, a bitter, joyless smile playing on his lips. That’s all the confirmation he needed. Suddenly, Matt felt anger flare in his chest, taking over all other emotions.

"So, uppers? Coke? Or maybe molly, is that it?” Matt shot, an unamused huff escaping his lips. Not really even waiting for an answer, he continued, his tone more mocking than he had meant: “You should know better, Jason. You’ve been drinking like crazy, you know how that could end. I mean, is that it? Do you wanna end up dead? Do you like… get off on making me watch?”

“Fuck off Matt”, Jason slurred, his tone dangerous.

“Is this a pity game you’re playing or what the fuck are you trying to do? Or are you trying to show me how much fucking fun you’re having? Whatever this is, it’s not cute. I’m fucking worried. This isn’t you. You don’t do this.”

“You don’t know me”, Jason spat through his teeth, the words slipping off his tongue like venom. He made a move to stand up, but his balance failed him and he fell back, banging his head on the wall. He drew in a shaky breath. “Do you get off on acting like you care? Does all that moral superiority make your dick hard? Why don’t you just leave me the fuck alone to deal with my own shit and go back to partying and pretending you’re the Christ himself. Fuck. Off. And you don’t know my reasons.”

Jason leaned his head back against the wall, his face flushed with uncontrolled anger. Matt laughed again, shooting a glance at the grimy roof of the bathroom stall. “You think I’m doing this because it’s fun? Because I enjoy watching you suck the face off of every other guy, making sure I’m watching and then coming here to play the hero? This is fucked up, I don’t enjoy this. I _hate_ it. I wish that I could hate you, Jason, I really do. But I don’t. And that’s why I’m here.”

“Just leave. What’s it to you? I destroyed us, I fucked up. You don’t need to take care of me. You don’t owe me anything”, Jason said, his tone suddenly weaker. He closed his eyes and pursed his lips together.

“What’s it to me?” Matt repeated, another laugh escaping his lips. A sudden, overwhelming sadness rose from the pit of his stomach. It grabbed him by the throat, made him choke on his words. He watched Jason as he reopened his eyes, and saw a similar sadness reflected back under the haziness of his dilated pupils. Matt was too drunk, and at the same time, too sober for this. “I don’t think you understand how love works.”

With that, Jason snapped himself around and unceremoniously vomited again, just making it over the toilet. A visible shudder went through his body and he stayed leaning to the white porcelain.

“M’sorry”, he whispered, barely audible, his forehead pressed against the dirty, white surface. All strength seemed to escape him, leaving his eyes and tone hollow and his composure frail.

“About what specifically?” Matt asked, trying to sound joking, but his tone fell flat.

Jason’s expression darkened at the words, and he seemed to shrink down. His words were still slurred together, but the fight had left him. “The past. The present. The future, probably.” They were silent for a moment, hearing only the sounds of the bass, and someone talking loudly as they entered the bathroom.

“What did you take?” Matt asked again, his tone genuine.

“Pills. E, probably. I’m not sure. Feels bad”, Jason confessed, sinking further against the toilet.

“How bad?” Matt asked, his tone serious again, knowing full well Jason understood what he implied.

“Not _that_ bad”, Jason said quietly after a moment of contemplating.

Matt studied him for a second, felt his heart soften and sighed.

“Let me help you get back to where you’re staying. Please.” He couldn’t quite conceal the note of pleading in his voice, but he wasn’t about to be embarrassed now. He just needed to make sure Jason was alright, nothing more. Jason sighed at the words, closed his eyes, but after a moment, nodded.

The struggle of getting Jason out was, as Kennedy would have put it, real. He managed to get Jason on his feet, heels and all, but steering him down the stairs and out of the club was another story. Jason’s balance was gone and his focus was nonexistent, and he held onto him for dear life. Kurtis didn’t see them leave and none of Jason’s company seemed to notice either, that Matt was glad of.

Once they were out and Matt was in the process of getting them an uber, Jason promptly vomited whatever was left in his stomach to the sidewalk. He held his hair and kept him standing, a long line of _if you need to vomit in the car, tell me or open the window, please jason, just don’t puke in the car_ spilling from his lips. A couple of more  minutes of waiting later, their ride arrived.

He maneuvered Jason in, got in himself and turned to Jason. “Where are you staying, Jase? What’s the address?”

Jason opened his eyes, raised his head from against the window, furrowing his brows. Matt could see him thinking hard, searching and coming up with nothing.

Matt stared at Jason’s delicate frame for a few empty seconds and sighed, turning to give his apartment’s address to the driver.

  
  


* * *

 

 

Jason didn’t puke in the car. He did, however, puke in Matt's kitchen sink just moments after they had gotten inside. Now he was sitting on Matt's bed, still in full drag, looking more miserable than ever. Matt threw occasional glances at the other as he was giving the sink a quick clean-up, but Jason didn’t seem to have any intention of moving. He looked sad and exhausted, small in a way Matt hadn’t seen before.

He finished cleaning the sink, grabbed a glass of water and walked back to Jason. He handed him the glass, and he took it with fumbling fingers. Not trusting him, Matt supported the heavy glass to his lips. “All of it”, he ordered quietly when Jason tried to draw back.

He set the empty glass on the bedside table and sat next to Jason. “Do you feel like you could get some sleep?” Matt asked Jason, who eventually nodded, closing his eyes and remaining as passive as ever. Matt searched his face for a moment and sighed.

“Well, we need to get that makeup off first. My sheets can’t take it”, he said, standing up and promptly lifting Jason to his feet with him.

Still passive, Jason allowed himself to be dragged to the bathroom and let Matt sit him on top of the toilet. Matt reached out to snatch the lashes off of Jason’s eyes and set them down next to the sink. Matt rummaged his cabinet for the makeup wipes and turned to face Jason, who had closed his eyes again. Slowly, he crouched in front of him and his fingers ghosted over the pale skin on his gaunt face. Jason had lost weight, it was obvious from the way his cheekbones protruded from his face under the fullness of the makeup. Slowly, he started to wipe the remnants of his makeup from his face, deep purple eyeshadow and deep black liner leaving his face in colorful stains, revealing glowing skin.

Just as Matt began to wipe at his full red lips, Jason opened his eyes.

Their faces mere inches away, Matt found himself staring right into the deep brown of his irises, still glazed and unfocused, but so incredibly familiar. His movements froze for a moment, fingers pressing gently at his lower lip. There was sadness in Jason’s eyes, unmistakable, mixed with confusion and something which looked a lot like affection.

Matt tore his eyes hastily away from his and resumed wiping away the makeup, almost finished, when he felt a hand grab his, pulling it down and suddenly, there were lips pressed against his.

Jason was kissing him.

It was just barely a kiss, lips grazing lips, his free hand gently moving to his cheek. A light pressure, but enough to make Matt's whole, entire mind go blank.

He felt alive.

And just as abruptly, the pressure was gone, lips withdrawn from his and Matt was left frozen, lips parted in confusion, completely unable to move.

As Jason withdraw, their eyes locked again, soft brown eyes flooded with desperation. A sudden need clawed at the pit of Matt's stomach, the one he had so carefully bottled up and hid away. His whole body was aflame with it, he wanted nothing more than to kiss the desperation away from those eyes, to hold Jason as close as he could and to never let go.

The sudden graze of Jason’s thumb across his cheek brough Matt back to reality.

This was Jason, high on whatever, drunk and needy. He could be any which one of those guys at the club, this wasn’t about him or what they had shared in the past and he shouldn’t read anything into it.

_Wake up._

He forced himself to move, regaining the control of his limbs as he simply stood up, grabbed the spare toothbrush, put some toothpaste on it and shoved it in Jason’s hand. “I hope you can manage this yourself. I’m gonna go change”, he said, voice flat and emotionless. He didn’t bother looking at Jason, storming out of the bathroom without another word.

The need, however, didn’t leave him. Matt felt his hands shake as he stripped off his pants and shirt, throwing on an oversized t-shirt. His vision was blurry and his head spun, anxiety clawing at his throat as he steadied himself on his bedroom window sill, looking out but seeing nothing.

The tears came without a warning, silent, rolling down his cheeks in hot streams. Snow was falling silently over the dark streets of New York, muffling all sounds to whispers. He stood, unmoving and silent, until the tears dried, leaving just a dull ache at his temples.

Matt rather felt than heard Jason enter the bedroom. He turned around, Jason’s lean - _too lean -_ frame appearing in the door frame, illuminated by the orange, flickering light from the window. There was more Jason than Violet in the figure now, the makeup gone, hair untidy. He was still in Violet’s clothes, cincher included.

Without speaking, Matt closed the distance between them, turning Jason around and starting to unbuckle his top. His movements, first intentionally clinical, melted into candid, gentle touches, when his fingers ghosted over familiar, small marks on his skin, tracing patterns of tattoos. He discarded the top, throwing it onto the bed, and before he could stop himself, ran his hand through Jason’s long hair, untangling knots. A familiar smell of shampoo and hairspray filled the air as he let himself repeat the motion once more.

Jason, who had stood completely still, suddenly spoke, voice slurred, filled with exhaustion: “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” He asked casually, quickly moving his fingers to the cincher, skilled fingers beginning to unfasten the restricting material.

“Helping me”, Jason said, breathing in as the cincher loosened his grip on his body.

Matts didn’t skip a beat, fingers still working in complicated patterns. “I told you already”, he stated.

“But.. why do you have to be so gentle? Jason persisted, his voice doused with confusion. The last few remaining buckles came undone, and Matt folded the cincher in his arms, stopping to steal a look at the angry red marks on and old bruises on his skin, left behind by his corsets and cinchers.  “You should hate me”, Jason all but whispered.

“I told you. I can’t hate you”, Matt said as nonchalantly as he could, unbuckling Jason’s bra with with free hand, letting it fall to the ground.  He paused as he sensed something shift in Jason’s mood.

Jason’s muscles were tense, his voice was serious, suddenly surprisingly clear: “It would feel better if you hated me. I want you to hate me.”

Matt didn’t have time to react.

In a flash, Jason grabbed Matt's arm, spinning them around so they were facing each other. When Matt met Jason’s gaze, he faltered. There was no softness, none of the usual glint in those eyes. Instead they were filled with a crazed determination, burning into the pools of Matt's icy blue ones with a sudden intensity.

“Hit me”, Jason said, tone filled with determination.

“What the fuck? What the fuck are you doing? Jason, let go”, Matt ordered. He let out a confused breath, trying to back down, but Jason held onto his arm with an iron grip.

Jason shook his head. “I deserve it. Hurt me”, a hint of pleading found itself into Jason’s tone, mixing with the dangerous look in his eyes. His grip on Matt’s hand tightened.

“Let go. Jason, _fuck,_ stop it. I’m not hitting you, you idiot.”

Matt paused and searched Jason’s eyes in disbelief. He moved slowly, placing his free hand carefully on the hand Jason was holding him with. He spoke the word like one would to a wounded animal, tone soothing, but adamant:

“No.”

Something in Jason’s graze broke. Suddenly he was full of begging, pleading, only the crazed intensity left in a dull flame behind his dark eyes.

“Then kiss me”, Jason stepped closer, a tiny movement, parting his lips. Matt recoiled, pulling back half-heartedly. Jason’s eyes had fluttered half closed, dark lashes fluttering, his hand still holding Matt steadily in place.

“Why are you doing this?” Matt whispered.

“I want to kiss you”, Jason said, moving closer. Matt could feel his warm breath on his face, smell the mint of the toothpaste. Mint and alcohol. His voice was low and husky, still desperate.

“You want to kiss someone. It has nothing to do with me”, Matt forced the words out, his body locked in place.

He shivered as he felt Jason lean close, pressing his forehead against his, speaking softly against skin, words barely audible: “It has everything to do with you. It’s you. It’s always been you. No one else.”

“Jason, don’t. Don’t do this”, Matt pleaded with the last of his strength. The crawling need had reached his heart, pulling it apart thread by thread, setting his body aflame in a mixture of agony and bliss. It was telling him to jump from this edge, to throw himself at Jason, let himself be burned to the ground. But the last remaining remnant of his self control held him still.

“I hated it, what I did. I hate myself for it. I hate myself so much”, Jason spoke, words soft and raw. He paused, something heavy looming between them.

When Jason spoke next, it was silent, more movement than sound, spoken against Matt's parted lips. In the silence, his whispered words rang like a shout:

“I love you.”

Matt snapped back, a violent movement.

“Get undressed and go to sleep”, he said in monotone, words hollow. He shoved the corset in Jason’s arms, pushing him back and turned around, hastily walking to the bed. He tossed a t-shirt in Jason’s general direction. Invisible fingers were closing around his throat once more. He lay on the bed and clenched his teeth to keep in the sounds threatening to escape his lips. He didn’t know if he wanted to scream, cry or laugh, and he held onto the last bits of his self-control for dear life, forcefully steadying his breaths.

What was left was the emptiness. The same, dull, numb feeling, spreading from his shattered chest to the tips of his fingers, mixing with the need. He listened to the humming of the room, suddenly completely aware of his surroundings.

Moments passed, but the room remained as silent as a grave. Jason’s unmoving figure, only a silhouette, was still standing where he had left him.

“Jason, come sleep.”

A tired request.

After a long, long while, he saw Jason’s unsteady figure start to move, removing socks and almost falling over, saw him run hands through his hair. Saw him pulling the shirt over his head. His shirt. He didn’t miss the hesitation in Jason’s movement as he fumbled with the zipper on his short dress, turning his back on him before pulling it down slowly. Matt tore his gaze away and heard him step out of the dress. He felt Jason lay down next to him, carefully, clearly keeping himself as far away from Matt as possible.

It was an empty moment, a hollow one, dim lights flickering on the walls of the dark room, the air heavy with memories and regrets. It was like the room remembered how much love it had once held inside, how many easy, fragile moments it had witnessed. It would be so easy to reach out, to touch warm skin, to hold and be held. The need tore holes into Matt's sides, scratching sore lines onto the surface of his heart. And he let it tear him apart, didn’t fight it.

Matt stared into the dark nothingness of his room, listening to Jason’s silent breathing, when suddenly, he heard his voice call out, broken:

“Why can’t you let me love you?”

Jason’s question was left hanging in the heavy air of the room and Matt found himself unable to speak. A few heavy minutes passed, broken long moments later only by a strange hitch in Jason’s breathing.

He heard another choked noise and realised Jason was crying, quickly fully breaking down in sudden, desperate sobs. The sounds were panicked, something raw, animalistic, nothing like the controlled, chaste tears Matt had seen Jason shed in the past. It sounded like something was tearing him apart from the inside, and however hard Jason was trying to keep himself together, the sounds muffled by something, a hand or a pillow, it wasn’t working. These were the sounds of something breaking.

His body working almost automatically, Matt shuffled closer to the shaking body of the person he loved, cupping his lean frame into a tight embrace. He held him close, grounding, and Jason’s hands immediately grabbed at the front of his shirt. So familiar, yet so strange, Jason’s head buried itself against his chest and Matt moved his hand to stroke his back in comforting patterns.

Jason cried until he slowly drifted to sleep in Matt's arms.

Rest came much slower to Matt, but he stayed still, his hand still drawing patterns into the other’s back. When sleep came, it was light and restless, weighed down by memories of soft lips against his own.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kids, don't do drugs if you're drinking heavily or are otherwise in a bad place. ALSO don't take stuff from people you don't know. chances are the stuff's fake or cut with something dangerous
> 
> this has been a psa


	12. Chapter 12

 

 

The first thing Jason became aware of was that he was practically naked, the shirt he had apparently slept in rolled uncomfortably all the way up to his armpits. Next, he felt his head swim, a dull ache gripping at his temples and another, stinging pain on his thigh. His mouth was dry, but tasted faintly of toothpaste. Overall, he felt undeniably shitty, but not on the verge of death.

Then it all came crashing down. The booze, the pills, the vomiting.

Matt.

Matt watching him across the club, the dancing, the kissing. Then blurry, but remarkably detailed memories: Matt in the bathroom, Matt guiding him down the stairs, Matt helping him de-drag, Matt running his hands through his hair. Matt holding him as he cried.  _ Fuck. _

He slowly, experimentally opened his eyes. His eyelids felt heavy, and his vision was blurry. He squinted his eyes, feeling an uncomfortable brightness flood his senses. It was a faint daylight, a winter-in-New York -kind of sun. The bed was empty next to him, the haste plans of a silent escape quickly pulled from his mind.

He lifted his head an inch, rapidly blinking his eyes in the morning light and searched around the room. He spotted Matt immediately, sitting on the window sill. He was curled sideways, leaning to the window, hugging his knees with his left hand. In the other hand he was holding a cup of coffee, steam rising to the chilly air. He was clad in nothing else than a enormous, oversized sweater, delicately pink, in perfect harmony with his bare, pale legs. He looked beautiful, so incredibly beautiful.

Jason sat up slightly, limbs aching, blinking his eyes and at that exact moment, it hit him. He became aware of his right leg, bare, the white linen only covering a part of the angry red gashes on his skin.

_ Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit.  _

He covered his leg hastily, let out a panicked breath and Matt's eyes snapped to his.

They locked gazes. He saw Matt's eyes, red, swollen, his lashed clumped together with salt. Jason stopped breathing. He gripped the sheet now covering his right thigh, gripped it like his life depended on it, forcing a measured, casual expression on his face. They look at each other, silent, until Matt whispered: “Hey”.

“Hey”, Jason replied, whispering, unable to look away from Matt's blue eyes. He swallowed heavily. Maybe he didn’t see.

“How are you feeling?” Matt asked, his tone casual.

“Good. Okay”, Jason said, tense. Matt regarded him with critical eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, opened it again, seemingly searching for words. Jason felt like a deer in the headlights, frozen in place. Matt searched his eyes again, sighed and braced himself. Jason felt vulnerable in a way he didn’t know was possible. He wanted to die, run, disappear, deny everything. But he could do nothing.

When Matt spoke, his words were careful, measured: “How… how have you been doing... lately?”

And Jason knew then, knew this was it. He felt his whole body become heavy and he moved his gaze away from Matt's eyes to the side. His thigh felt like it was burning under the white sheet.

“You saw”,he stated, his tone void of any emotion.

“I saw”, Matt answered with a whisper, like it was more to himself, a confirmation of sorts. 

Another moment of silence followed, heavy with secrets laid bare. Jason fidgeted with the edge of the white linen, a void of dread opening up in the pit of his stomach. It was an all-engulfing, desperate feeling of shame. He felt heat creeping up his face, a tremor shaking his tense muscles. He didn’t know where to go from here. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know.

“What’s going on, Jason?” Matt asked, voice breaking slightly.

_ A lot,  _ Jason wanted to say.  _ Everything. You, me, us. Everything’s going on.  _ But what came out was:

“I’m sorry.”

There was another pause, and Jason kept his gaze down, following the cracks on Matt's wooden floor. He heard Matt put his cup down, the noise followed by confused sounds and inhales.

“I don’t understand anything, Jason. I don’t understand anything anymore”, Matt blurted out, voice desperate. Jason could practically hear Matt's brain going into overdrive. “First, you made me believe we were meant to be, that you loved me, freaked the fuck out if I even touched another guy. You made sure I fell head over heels for you.”

Jason’s throat went dry.

“Then, you broke my heart, acted like I meant nothing to you, broke every promise you had made, made sure I found out. And now… Now you’re here, looking like  _ that,  _ telling me I’m the only one you ever loved and I don't know what’s real anymore. I can’t-this is fucking me up.”

Jason heard him pace around the room, and opened his lips to speak, trying to form a sentence, something. But what came out was:

“I’m sorry.”

Matt didn’t seem to hear: “What the fuck’s going on, Jason?”

Jason heard his ragged breath, knew that he was waiting for an explanation. But really, Jason didn’t know if he had one. So he stayed silent, avoiding eye contact, fidgeting with the sheet, shame still burning in his gut.

After a long moment of silence, he heard Matt exhale heavily. He felt the bed sink as Matt plopped himself down at the end of the bed. Jason glanced at him from the side of his eye, saw him bury his face in his hands. “Can you say something? Anything, just, any word. Just so I know that you’re here with me.”

Jason hesitated, all words failing him. He wanted to say everything, explain everything, but he found that he could not. The only thing that came out was:

“I’m so sorry.”

“Okay. That’s something”, Matt breathed, sounding exhausted. Jason could hear him measuring what to say next, out of the corner of his eye, he saw him turn on the bed, facing him with one knee crossed in front of him.  “Uh… So… Do you feel sick? Like, right now?”

Jason’s throat was dry, but he croaked a silent: “No.”

“Good. That’s good”, Matt mumbled. “Ummm… Do you remember what happened last night?”

Jason hesitated again, but he forced his mouth open. “Yeah”, he whispered and then added: “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

Jason looked up, meeting Matt's eyes for the first time in a while. His eyes were gentle, gentle in a way Jason didn’t think he deserved. “I really am.. sorry.”

“Okay, okay”, Matt repeated, more to himself, taking deep breaths, gathering his thoughts. With a voice so gentle, so sincere that it made Jason uneasy, he continued:  “We really need to talk about this. Can we talk about this?”

“About?” Jason tried weakly.

Patiently, Matt clarified: “About us. About last night. About you and… those.”

Jason felt a newly found flush of shame as Matt gestured vaguely towards his legs.  _ Oh no, honey.  _ He was not ready for this. He fidgeted nervously and looked down at his lap. His voice was defensive, bitter: “What is there to talk about?”

“Don’t say that. Please don’t”, Matt sighed, exhaustion clear in his voice.

“I’m sorry about last night, okay. I’m sorry for what I did to you, I’m sorry you had to see me like this. Let’s drop it, I can just… leave”, Jason offered, his last try at avoiding the real subject. It fell flat with Matt.

“You can’t brush this off like that, Jason. Please let me have this, just this one conversation. I need you to talk to me. Could you do that?” Matt pleaded.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I can”, he admitted tiredly.

“Could you try? Please.”

“Fuck, Matt”, he sighed, a tinge of unnecessary annoyance burning in his chest. He pulled the covers up to his neck like a child and huffed. “Just ask then, ask. What do you wanna talk about?”

Matt stayed silent, brain visibly working, but he still managed to land on the worst fucking question of them all: “Have you been eating?” 

“Have you?” Jason countered immediately. It was a childish kind of defiance, but Jason couldn’t help it. The annoyance grew, blooming like flowers inside of his chest, making his voice come out harsh and pointed. “You look like shit. “

“Stop that”, Matt sighed, unfazed.

“What am I supposed to tell you?”

“The truth?” Matt shrugged, sounding more than a little unsure of himself.

“The truth?” Jason snorted.

“I don’t know,  I’m just… trying to understand what’s happened. “

Matt ran a hand through his hair, the bed creaking as it shifted under his weight.

“Nothing's happened, Matt. Give it a rest.”

Matt’s voice was soft, sad: “This isn’t nothing, Jason.”

“I know!” Jason spat, still defensive. “Do you expect me to just pour my heart out to you, just like that? After everything?”

“Don’t you think that after the stunt you pulled on me last night, after all the shit you’ve done, I at least deserve some kind of an explanation?”

“Then let’s talk about last night, not…  _ this _ .” The force from Jason’s voice died out towards the end of the sentence, betraying his desperation. Their eyes met, and Jason knew Matt understood, saw him give in just a little.

Matt stared at him, contemplating, studying, stared straight into his eyes in a way that meant he was searching for an alternate route. Slowly, he spoke: “Why did you say all those things last night?”

“What things?”

“You know what things”, Matt sighed. When Jason didn’t answer, he continued: “That I was the only one, that you wanted to kiss me. That you love me.”

“I already said I’m sorry for last night”, the volume of his voice rising slightly, annoyance now replaced with another generous wave of shame.

“I don’t need apologies. I need to know why. Why did you say it?” Matt's tone was still soft, kind and he drilled into Jason’s eyes with determination. He was beautiful in a way that he seemed ethereal, blue eyes, pale skin and soft words, and Jason suddenly felt himself unable to lie.

Jason withdraw his gaze again, searching for the right words, the shame still threatening to engulf him and rising like bile to his throat. After a long pause, he sighed, his body relaxing in defeat against the pillows. “I don’t know. I meant it”, he simply said.

Matt seemed to process his words for a moment before asking again:  “You meant it? That I’m the only one, there’s no one else?”

“Yes”, Jason said and lifted his chin to look Matt in the eyes again.

“You were drunk, and high”, Matt deadpanned.

“And? I meant it.”

Matt held his gaze. Finally, he shook his head, stood up and started pacing. “I’m the only one, but you cheated on me”, he said, matter-of-factly, stopping dead in his tracks.

“Yeah”, Jason admitted tiredly.

“Why?” Matt asked, his tone suddenly bordering desperate. He was looking out of the window, like the answer would be staring at him from behind the glass.

“You wouldn’t…” Jason tried, but suddenly his throat was closing. There was a long silence, the muffled sounds of cars moving mixing with the sounds of their breaths.

“Why did you do that to me?” It was barely a whisper, but the overflowing sadness that seemed to pour out of Matt with the words felt like it could drown a man.

“Matt…”, Jason pleaded.

“I was so in love with you.” Another whisper directed at snowy New York streets.

“Were you?”

The words came out of Jason’s mouth before he could stop them. He saw Matt's body go rigid, his hand clenched in fists. The silence that followed was ice cold, tense. Long moments passed, before Matt turned around, a slow, dark wrath now burning in his icy blue eyes. It was an expression that Jason had never seen on Matt. He looked strange, like a stranger, the gentle features of his face full of anger. When he spoke, his words were slow, laced with danger:

“What do you mean by that? Jason, what the fuck do you mean?”

Jason stared right back into those glaring eyes, facing the the fire burning in them with surprising ease. He felt calm, suddenly so sure with what he had been feeling. It was all so simple, he was so bare and ready to let himself be engulfed in the flames burning in his lover’s eyes. So he repeated himself, casually: “Were you in love with me?”

Confusion was bleeding into Matt's voice, the wrath only barely faltering: “I just told you I fell head over heels for you. I loved you like crazy. What are you getting at?”

“You’ve never told me before”, Jason continued.

“Told you what?” Matt spat.

“You’ve never said ‘I love you’.”

“I have”, Matt said quickly, almost yelled, like what Jason had said was completely ridiculous, like the idea itself insulted him. Disbelief was written on his features.

There was a silence and suddenly, the wrath from Matt's eyes was gone. It was that hollow moment of realization, the second of faltering confidence turning slowly into raw uncertainty. Jason could see Matt thinking, his eyes glazed over. “I have”, he repeated, but his tone said  _ “I must’ve” _ .

“ _ I  _ said it, over and over. You never said it back.”

Matt’s lips were parted and he was looking at Jason in disbelief, confusion. He shook his head, eyes flickering over Jason’s features.

“Is… Is that what this is all about?”

There was the tiniest bit of belittlement in Matt’s voice, and Jason was done. He shot up in the bed, drilling his eyes into Matt:

“You said you wanted an explanation? I’ll give you an explanation. Do you know how many times I said those stupid words to you and hoped that maybe this time, maybe  _ this once _ , you’d actually say them back? How many times I just had to watch you walk away like I was nothing? All I ever heard was: Let’s not talk about it, let’s keep this a secret. Let’s keep this between us.”

Jason saw the realization hit him, saw it in the way his brows furrowed and in the darkening expression taking over his features.

“You never said it back. Never”, Jason repeated, the words sharp and stern. Accusing.

“Fuck”, Matt breathed. He leaned against the wall, eyes distant.

“And was it cheating, was it really Matt?” Jason continued, prodding. “Were we a thing?”

“Don’t start that. I didn’t fuck anyone else. You knew that.” A tinge of annoyance swam back into Matt’s voice.

“Sure. But I also knew you didn’t want anyone in the fucking world to know that. When I won, you wouldn’t even touch me in front of anyone. I thought I was fine with it, being your dirty little secret-.”

“Jason, that’s not-”, Matt tried to cut in, voice rising in volume, but Jason didn’t stop to listen.

“You didn’t even want to touch me when we were out of this fucking room. Do you realize how fucked up that is? How fucking worthless I felt? It’s like you were ashamed of me. It broke me, Matt. How was I supposed to know you cared about me?”

“So you just decided to start fucking around instead of talking about it with me like a grown up person? Was that your solution to-”

Matt was shouting, and Jason couldn’t stifle the laugh that escaped his lips. The ringing sound of his voice pierced the atmosphere of the room like a knife. Jason shook his head.

“Talk about it? Really, Matt? You don’t think I tried?”

“Then talk to me now, tell me!”

Jason was shouting too, a flame licking at his chest:

“What the fuck do you want me to tell you? That I started doing drugs to escape the fact that sometimes I wasn’t sure if you hated me or if you just actually didn’t give a fuck? That I cared so fucking much I spiralled back to doing all the stupid shit I used to do as a kid?”

“Was this before or after you decided to take it all out on me?” Matt sneered and Jason wanted to punch him.

“Stop playing the fucking victim!” Jason spat. Suddenly, he felt tired, his limbs heavy, but the words kept on spilling from his lips, only losing some of their edge: “You act like I enjoyed this. Guess what, I didn’t.”

Matt leaned against the wall in an attempt to steady himself, knuckles white as he clenched his fists. “Oh yeah, Paris must’ve been awful for you.”

“Fuck you.” Jason’s breath hitched, the words stinging at his skin. “Things went to shit for me way before that.”

“So this has been going on for what, forever?”

Matt’s words dripped venom, but Jason shot right back: “Well you wouldn’t know, would you?”

“Why didn’t you just tell me you weren’t doing okay?”

“Why didn’t you just tell me you loved me?”

Their eyes met, and they stayed still, studying each other for a long, silent moment. Finally, Matt averted his gaze and exhaled, sliding down the wall in defeat. He let his head fall into his hand and rubbed his temples as if he was having a headache. Snowflakes were falling outside, wet and heavy, the only movement in the stillness of the room.

As time passed, so did the anger. The more Jason thought about it, about them, the worse he felt. He let his mind wander back to those moments, those precious moments that could have been turning points to the two of them. For a small moment, he was lost in a world of ‘what if’s.

_ What if I had talked to him about it? What if I had gone back that night? What if I had talked to Katya? What if had called him, if I had told him the truth? _

Distantly, Jason was aware that Matt was crying.

“Matt?”

Matt raised his gaze to meet his, eyes red and swollen.

“Just- what I did was fucked up, I know, but it wasn’t about hurting you. It wasn’t about the sex, sure as hell wasn’t about feeling good. It was about hurting me. The first time I- I just, I was alone in Paris, drunk and high and I had just…”

Jason’s eyes flickered down to his thighs and he absentmindedly pressed a hand over his cuts, a dull pain shooting up his leg. He saw Matt's eyes follow his gaze. “I don't even know if it had everything or nothing to do with you, but I had a- I sort of freaked out and I needed to feel something so I… The drugs didn’t do it, so I grabbed a…”

His throat was dry, his head spun. He couldn’t say it, not out loud. “It was so easy, Matt. It was  _ so easy _ .”

Jason’s gaze flickered back to Matt and knew he understood. Tears streaked his cheeks, but he was holding his breath like he was scared that Jason would stop talking if he made a sound.

“It terrified me. I almost called you, but I was so scared. So I just went to his place instead, it- felt easier. I just… I need you to know that cheating on you was- it was an afterthought. It’s no excuse, but...”

He trailed off. There was a pause, pieces of the puzzle clicking in place inside Matt's head. The realization was clear on his face: “Oh God… You started that  _ before _ … Oh, Jason."

Jason let himself fall back to the mattress, staring blankly at the ceiling. He lay motionless, listening to the sounds of their breaths.

When Matt spoke, a strange finality rang in his words:

“I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah”, Jason answered, and the tears started falling.

“You’re a mess.”

“Mhhm.”

A sudden chuckle escaped Matt’s lips, one that was half laughter, half tears.

A silence

“Are you gonna be okay?” He asked after a while.

“I don’t know”, Jason admitted calmly, speaking through his tears.

Another long silence.

“It’s not your fault”, Jason added, voice broken.

Matt released a long, trembling breath: “Jason, I can’t-”

“I know.”

A final silence fell between them, the kind that suddenly feels unbreakable. Jason calmed his breaths, listened to the choked sounds coming from Matt’s direction and waited for something to happen. Anything.

After a while, he heard Matt stand up, then his footsteps disappearing into the living room. He heard the window open, and pictured Matt leaning into the cool winter air with a cigarette in hand. He could almost see the snowflakes melting against hot skin.

Something clicked into place inside of him, something agonizingly real.

Silently, Jason stood up and grabbed his clothes from the pile at the foot of the bed,not bothering to take off Matt’s shirt. He dressed, a confusing mix of Violet, Jason and Matt, their scents mixed together. He pulled his hair back into a ponytail, stuffed his corset into a worn bag he found laying on the ground and tried his best to locate all of his belongings from around the room.

The cold air streaming to the apartment through the open window hit him as he slipped into the hall.

He heard Matt’s footsteps at the moment his hand grazed the handle of the front door. He spun around to meet his gaze, face illuminated by the bright winter light, the material of his sweater damp with melting snow. He was beautiful, so unforgivingly beautiful.

Words unspoken swam in the air between them, making the air so thick that it was suddenly hard to breathe.

Jason looked deep into the blue of Matt’s eyes and hoped.

_ Ask me to stay. _

Seconds passed, and Jason felt like he was drowning.

Slowly, a bitter, calm understanding settled inside his chest: Matt wasn’t going to stop him. And the worst part of it was that he understood why. He really did.

After holding his gaze for a few more seconds, savoring it like a treasure, Jason turned on his heels and left. It was the sound of a door closing, heels on stone and snow falling in lazy, wet flakes, melting against his skin.

Suddenly, Jason felt a strange, strained lightness in his chest. He wondered if this was what it truly felt to let go.

The snowy streets of New York seemed just a little more real, and he felt terrifyingly alright.

It was just that the tears wouldn’t stop falling.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a degenerate and a fraud and shitty at doing stuff, but here's the chapter finally.
> 
> put your hands together for confrontation with no conclusion
> 
> it's getting cute i promise, only a few chapters left


	13. Chapter 13

 

 

It was 8a.m. in Atlanta and Matt was a stupid fucking idiot.

Or maybe he wasn’t.

Well, he was gonna find out soon enough.

It was 8a.m. in Atlanta and Matt wasn’t really even sure how he got here.

He had watched Jason leave, he had kept staring at the door for hours after it had closed behind him. He had stared at it for so long that he eyes had started to hurt. Then, he had gone on with his life.

He had just lived his life, like a normal human being. It had worked, for a couple of days, at first, then weeks and suddenly a whole month had gone by. It had been easy, too easy. There had been no pain, no tears, no panic and no overwhelming numbness. Just life. Work, eat, sleep, repeat.

But really, inside of his head, he had been staring at that door, frozen in time, for the whole entirety of that month, longing for something. And the longing hadn’t stopped. Instead, it had remained, there in the pit of his stomach, like a fire burning inside of him, growing ever larger, until he was unable to ignore it.

It all had boiled down to a single night. He had come home, lit up a cigarette, smoked it, and glanced at the door. Something had snapped. He had booked a flight for the same night, packed his bags in a haze, a simple backpack with a confusing array of items thrown in it, and made his way to the airport.

Now, just a couple of hours later, he was standing here, in front of a door that was more familiar to him than he’d ever care to admit. He knew the patterns of this door by heart, remembered scratching it’s surface with his nails, lost in the heat of another person’s body. He remembered being lead through it in the small hours of the night, a slender hand sliding to grip his wrist.

_He was a stupid fucking idiot._

It was so early in the morning that Matt’s head was violently protesting, producing dull jolts of pain that ran through the entirety of his head. He was sweating. He could’ve lied it was the sun, the unbearable heat of the bright morning, but the truth was that he was scared. Terrified, absolutely, utterly terrified. His hands shook a little as he lifted it to press the small, black button left of the doorframe.

The doorbell rang. Once, twice.

There was an ominous silence, then, faint footsteps, just barely audible. The door opened and Matt stopped breathing.

_A stupid. Fucking. Idiot._

There was a figure, unmistakable, staring right at him from the other side of the threshold. Even though he was suffocating, drowning in a sea of his own fear, Matt choked out a sound, barely a word:

“Hi.”

There he was.

Jason had clearly just woken up. His hair was messy, tangled and untidy, and he squinted his eyes in the bright Atlanta sun, hitting his eyes from the window behind Matt. Jason was clad in a big oversized t-shirt, legs bare, the outline of his boxers visible through the shirt’s thin fabric. His brows furrowed into a perplexed frown, when he seemingly realized who he was looking at.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here?” Jason asked, words slurred with sleep and where Matt expected to hear anger, there was only tiredness and genuine confusion. It took him by surprise, the gentleness of Jason’s tone, and Matt felt an apologetic smile spread across his lips. Jason kept staring, sizing him up like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

This was also the exact moment when Matt realized he had absolutely no plan, no idea of what to do next. You’d think in the hours it took for him to get to Atlanta, he might have thought of something to say. But here he was, and he didn’t have a clue what he wanted to do next. It had been forever, four weeks, a whole month, and the sight of Jason there, in front of him, was paralyzing. He ended up opening and closing his mouth a couple of times, fiddling with the hem of his shirt, and choking out the first thing that came to his mind:

“Um… I was in the neighbourhood?”

Jason stared blankly back at him, lips parted in confusion.

“You’re in Atlanta”, he deadpanned, and if Matt hadn’t been absolutely mortified, he might have laughed.

“I know.”

Jason furrowed his brows further, like everything that was happening was completely, utterly incomprehensible to him. Maybe it was. He drew his hands close to his form like he was cradling himself, scrunching the fabric of his white t-shirt. Jason batted his eyes, letting a small, whiny sound escape his lips:

“It’s fucking eight a.m.”

“I know”, Matt admitted. “I’m sorry I woke you up?” He added, tentatively, in the softest of voices.

Someone opened a door loudly on the floor above them, the sounds of laughter suddenly filling the hallway, making Jason flinch just slightly. He stayed silent.

“Listen, Jason... “ Matt trailed off, really not sure what he was about to say. He sighed, casting a pleading look towards the figure in the doorway. “Can I-  can I come in?”

There was a pause, a moment of hesitation, during which Matt already mentally boarded a plane right back to New York City. It was two slow seconds of contemplating, or maybe just the time it took for Jason to process what Matt was saying, but it felt like an eternity. Finally, in a dazed, slow movement, Jason stepped aside and nodded his head just slightly, giving space for Matt to walk past him into the apartment.

Matt let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

He walked into the living room, and a strange ache returned to his chest. The room was bathed in sunlight, all pristine, beautiful, all still very Jason. Matt looked around, eyes trailing over familiar surfaces. Everything looked normal, at least very nearly so, and it was strangely comforting. A discarded pizza box was laying on the couch and a couple of dirty dishes lay on the kitchen counter, but everything still looked clean. Despite everything, this was still Jason’s place, everything in place, beautiful, aesthetically pleasing as always.

Behind him, Jason plopped himself on the couch, collapsing on his side, visibly struggling to keep his eyes open. They stayed like that for a moment, in complete silence, Matt standing awkwardly in the space between the living room and the kitchen. After a moment, his eyes fell on the cups discarded by the kitchen sink, and he cleared his throat:

“Can I make coffee?” He asked, but got absolutely no answer. Jason only shuffled himself to a tighter ball on the couch, pulling a blanket on top of himself, eyes falling closed. So, Matt made his way to the kitchen. 

He took his sweet time, searching for the cups and the almond milk Jason liked. He took care with the coffee, preparing it with unusual attention to detail, measuring everything carefully instead of haphazardly pouring grounds in straight from the bag. The sun slowly rose higher, painting the white walls of the apartment in glimmering gold. The smell of fresh coffee filled the air, and the room was full of only the sounds of Jason’s heavy breathing. It was a peaceful moment, a delicate mixture of complete calm and a lingering threat of anxiety.

With two coffee cups in hands, Matt sat himself in the armchair next to the sofa and stared at Jason’s sleeping form for a while. His face was partly hidden behind his arm, shielding his eyes from the sunlight. He followed the curves of soft skin the curls of dark hair. He looked good. Healthy. Beautiful.

“Jason”, Matt called softly, repeating it once before getting a long, exhausted sigh in response. Dark eyes suddenly peered at him from somewhere deep inside the bundle of limbs, still sleepy, but obviously much more alert, aware.

Jason extended his hand to take the cup of coffee from Matt’s hand, rising to a sitting position. He blew at the rising steam and sipped at the hot drink, humming his approval softly under his breath. His eyes returned to Matt, who suddenly felt himself unable to face the scrutiny.

A long moment passed before Jason finally broke the silence, his tone soft and low:

“Why are you here?”

_A good fucking question._

Matt almost smiled to himself, cradling the hot cup of coffee in his hands. He contemplated for a short while before answering: “Do you want the short or the long version?”

Jason shrugged, his eyes still fixed on him.

They stared at each other for a couple of seconds. Matt felt unbearably shy under that stare, shy and small, even though there was no judgement in Jason’s eyes, only a reflection of an effort to figure him out. Matt settled on the only answer he knew was true, even though he wasn’t sure if it was the whole truth:

“I’m here to apologize.”

Jason’s sipped at his drink, his face completely void of emotion.

“Okay.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He heard Jason make a sound that almost sounded like scoff. It wasn’t a scoff, not really, maybe a poor attempt at one, too fabricated to really have the intended effect. Jason swallowed heavily, biting his lower lip.

“That’s it?”

Matt heard it, heard how much Jason wanted him to say something else. But he couldn’t, he just couldn’t get the words out. Something was gripping him by the neck, fear, or maybe shame, suffocating all his efforts to say what he truly wanted. So he settled for something else, a shallow lie and hated himself for it.

“Yes, I guess. I don’t know.” He stammered, and Jason didn’t even dignify him with an answer this time, turning his gaze towards the window. So he asked a question, just to distract him, only to realize in the middle of his sentence that the question which was once so mundane, now held the weight of a thousand secrets bared. “How have you… been?”

“Good. Okay. I’m doing better”, Jason answered after a moment of silence. His gaze was fixed on the window now, but there was no wavering in his voice. “I really am”, Jason continued and Matt believed him.

“You look better.”

“You don’t”, Jason shot back immediately, endearingly honest and just slightly bitter, and Matt couldn’t help the sad smile that took over his features.

“Thanks.”

Jason shuffled in his seat impatiently, taking a short sip from his coffee. Specks of sunlight were dancing across his skin like droplets of water.

“So, could I get the long version now?” Jason asked bluntly, his voice void of any real aggression. He managed only to sound tense, impatient and Matt couldn’t blame him for it.

“I… I um, I think that was it. The long version, I mean.”

“That was the long version? Oh my god, Matt.” Jason’s eyes shot back to lock with his. An expression of disbelief was painted across his features, the tense edge in his voice only more prominent. When he continued, his words were sharp, confident and Matt could back down: “Why did you come here, really? Answer me.”

“I had to”, Matt admitted, the words falling from his mouth involuntarily.

“You had to? _Fuck me”_ , Jason breathed, rolling his eyes ever so slightly. There was a pause as Jason collected his thoughts, lips pressed into a thin line. There was a tinge of desperation in his voice when he spoke:  “You know… I don’t get you. You always do this, this… I’m doing better, Matt. Not much, but I am. And then you- you can’t just, show up in Atlanta at eight in the morning and fuck this up for me, just because you had to. Did you really come here just for that?”

“I...” Matt tried, but his throat was closing.

“You never say what you need to say, what you _wanna_ say”, Jason said, and it was the truth. Matt hated it, hated it so fucking much. Jason’s eyes were burning with a flame of something Matt didn’t really recognize. So steadily, so calmly, Jason spoke the words Matt had been dreading to hear:

“If you can’t tell me what you came here for, go.”

And then he waited. Jason waited patiently, like a fucking saint, waited for him to say something, to fix his stupid fucking brain, but Matt was frozen in fear. The only thing he knew how to do was to escape.

“Okay”, he said, his words and mind hollow, his body just a husk of something that once was. His lip trembled. “I… should get going.”

Matt rose to leave, anxiousness and grief battling inside of his chest. He was numb all over again, numbed by the reality he was facing, the finality of it. He gave up.

“ _M_ _att_.”

There was a whisper, that shook him to his core, like a knife thrust straight through his heart. In a fluid motion, Jason was up too, suddenly standing in front of him, eyes quietly desperate. His scent hit Matt first, familiar and comforting, engulfing him. The hairs on Matt’s neck stood up and a shiver ran down his spine. Jason’s hand brushed against his, almost making contact. Just the heat radiating from his skin was enough to make Matt’s knees go weak. He heard him plead:

“Talk to me. Please.”

Everything happened at once. He was falling, and suddenly, it all stopped.

Their lips met, soft and gentle and everything locked into place. There wasn’t a rush of electricity nor a surge of feeling, no epiphany, just a calm that settled over him, grounded him in place. It felt so incredibly right. Matt couldn’t really tell who kissed who, not if he tried his hardest, he knew just that they were suddenly pressed against each other, Jason’s lips were hot against his skin and he felt like crying.

They stayed like that, lips pressed against lips, for a few short, heavy seconds. Matt’s hand snaked up to hold Jason’s waist gently, resting on the slight curve of it, and Jason’s hand pressed against his cheek. When they separated, they stayed like that, close, hot breaths mixing in an overwhelming silence.

It was familiar, safe, comforting, and Matt was shaking.

“I don’t know what to do, Jason. I’m fucking scared”, he spoke out, but didn’t recognize his own voice. The words came out small, croaked out in a desperate confession.

Jason was quiet, moving his hand to grab at the back of Matt’s neck pressing their foreheads close. His finger started moving in abstract patterns across his skin. Matt leaned into his touch.

“I’m so sorry. I’m bad at this. I’m bad at permanent. I’m bad at honesty and truth. I’m shitty at feelings. I’ve been such a fucking selfish idiot, just because I was scared. I was afraid of this, afraid of you, because it felt so real. You felt so real. It all felt so incredibly genuine, it was good and true, and that made me terrified. I’m still so fucking terrified.”

Matt was rambling, spewing out incoherent sentences, and Jason was still, solid and strong, holding him in place. He stayed silent, allowed Matt to continue:

“I know I can’t just magically fix this, I know it won’t undo anything that happened but I need you to know how much you mean to me. I loved us, the way this made me feel. I loved everything you dis. The way you cared for me, the way you looked at me when we were alone, the way you made everything look like fine art. I loved everything about you. Even your shitty morning attitude, your perfectionism, the days you were so stressed you could barely function. I loved that. I _love_ that. _I love you._ ”

Matt tilted his head, desperate to look Jason in the eyes. He drew back to look at him, just slightly.

Jason was almost smiling, and also on the verge of tears, a mixture of feelings reflected in his features. It was relief, admiration, love and understanding. Jason finally understood, and Matt did too. It wasn’t perfect, what they had, they weren’t perfect. Far from it. They were messed up, both of them, and nothing was fixed, but now they understood. It was something, _they had something,_ something that was almost unbearably real.

“I don’t wanna leave”, Matt whispered, losing himself in the soft brown of Jason’s eyes.

“Then don’t”, Jason breathed, almost cutting him off. “Don’t leave.”

Matt nodded, just nodded, because he didn’t know what else to do.

He pulled Jason close, into a tight embrace and felt him bury his face into the crook of his neck. It felt familiar, safe, comforting, and Matt was still shaking a little.

It didn’t matter anymore.

Maybe it was the weeks that had passed, the words they had said out loud, but something had suddenly settled into place. Matt buried his nose in the curls of dark brown hair and breathed in the smell of home. 

He found himself staring back into those  brown eyes in a matter of seconds, now shining darker, and then their lips were gliding against each other, sloppy, but demanding. When Jason bit down on his lower lip just slightly, it felt a little like a reminder.

Matt felt Jason’s hand slip under his shirt, a tremor going through his body at the contact. Matt raked his nails down Jason's back, fingers curving to grip at his ass, a soft moan escaping the other's lips. They moved in a haze of love and lust, hands exploring, reacquainting themselves with each other's bodies.

Long, hot minutes went by, their breathing growing ragged, hearts racing.

Suddenly, Matt was pressed down, falling on the sofa and in a flash, Jason was on top of him, slowly grinding his hips against him. Matt paused for the slightest of moments, hesitation filling his head. Then, Jason arched his back, driving his hips into him in a deliberate movement and Matt's head went blank. He buried his hands in Jason’s hair, tilting his head to get access to his neck, before Jason chased his lips back into a firm kiss. Just as abruptly, Jason pulled away, a moan leaving Matt’s lips at the loss of contact.

“I want you”, Jason whispered close to his ear, voice low and dirty.

Matt could do nothing put pant, mouth hanging open, unable to move.

_“Baby...”_

It was barely a whisper, gentle and soft, but it went straight to Matt’s cock.

_“Fuck”,_ he exhaled, a hoarse sound and pulled Jason into him, kissing him with bruising force. He let it bleed into the kiss, the words he couldn’t speak out loud. _I want you too, I want you so much._ And Jason understood. He resumed his movements, driving his hips into Matt with increasing intensity. Their movements soon became urgent, almost frantic, as they pulled each other closer, hips meeting in thrusts with absolutely no rhythm. Matt could feel Jason’s length pressing against him through his boxers, hard and heavy. He was so turned on it was physically painful.

“Jason. Bed”, Matt spoke breathlessly in between kisses.

“Mhhhm”, Jason purred into his mouth, grinding against him, hard, making no effort to get up.

A choked moan escaped Matt’s lips, and he faltered, before getting a hold of himself and pushing back at Jason. The body atop him resisted, trying to press Matt back onto to the couch, trying to catch his lips in another kiss, but in a whirl of determination, Matt slid his hands under one of Jason’s thighs and picked him up with surprising ease.

Jason yelped, his mouth left hanging open as he wrapped his legs around Matt’s frame.

“I said. Bed”, Matt growled, starting to walk them backwards towards the bedroom.

“...’s hot”, Jason mumbled into his neck, barely comprehensible, before nipping at the skin on his collarbone.

Matt threw Jason onto the bed unceremoniously, taking off his own shirt in a flash before being pulled down. He slipped his hand under Jason’s shirt, quickly finding the cold metal of his piercing. He tugged on it slightly, twirled it in his fingers and was rewarded with a shameless gasp. Jason’s hips arched from the bed, grinding up towards him, seeking contact.

He felt Jason’s hand fumble with the zipper of his pants, fingers playing over his dick, now straining painfully against the fabric.

“Off”, Jason demanded, and Matt snorted a laugh at his impatience. He helped Jason peel his pants off and the underwear with them, kicking both off hurriedly. Immediately, he tugged at Jason’s shirt, pulling it off in an almost fluid movement when Jason leaned up to give him space. Hands grabbed at the back of his naked ass, and he felt eyes on him, admiring. He looked down at Jason’s face, only to see him licking his lips at the sight of his body.

He didn’t give Jason much time to gawk. Leaning down, he placed a hot, demanding kiss on his lips, tongue licking the line of Jason’s lower lip and snaked his hand down to play with the waistband of his boxers. He traced the outline of his cock over the fabric, and Jason whined into his mouth.

He pulled away from the kiss, locking eyes with Jason. He looked filthy. Eyes blown dark with arousal, lips swollen and parted, breathing heavy. He looked like art.

Matt slid the waistband of Jason’s boxers down, his movements torturously slow, eyes never leaving Jason’s. He could see the frustration taking over the other’s features, groans escaping his lips. Matt continued, finger stretching the fabric still covering Jason’s dick, staring into his eyes. He avoided giving him any friction, ignoring his whines, drawing out this moment for what felt like an eternity. Jason writhed under him, whined, pleaded and then fell silent. After that, it only took seconds for him to snap.

“You fucker”, Jason spat out suddenly, shoving Matt’s hand down with his own, kicking the piece of fabric off in an angry flash of movement and with surprising ease. In the same whirl of movement, he captured Matt’s lips in a rough kiss, full of frustration, pulling their hips together to get the friction he needed.

They moved against each other, skin sliding against skin, their bodies fitting together perfectly. Sounds were escaping Matt’s lips, sounds he would deny making for the rest of his life. He tangled his hand in Jason’s hair, losing it in the dark curls and held on. He pulled his lips away from Jason’s to trace small kisses against his jawline, dipping lower to nib at his collarbone.

Jason was melting under him, hips thrusting, leaning into his touch. So familiar, so pliant, so ready for him. He traced the patterns of his tattoos, licked lines across the outlines of muscles, making him gasp. Matt idly wondered if he had ever been this turned on by anyone or anything in his life. He needed him, needed the taste of him. So, he made his way downwards, all the way to his hips, taking the strange hitch in Jason’s breathing as a sign that it was just what he wanted too.

Then, Matt saw them.

He paused, breathing still heavy, rising to sit on his knees. He had almost forgotten. His eyes rested on damaged skin, wounds and scars in neat lines across the smoothness of Jason’s naked thigh. There they were, for him to see and observe, all up close and personal, the testament to all that couldn’t be forgotten.

He felt the body under him tense further, Jason’s frame suddenly full of anxiousness, fear. He saw long fingers curl to grip at the sheets and his face turning away in shame. He looked small in a way that was foreign, foreign and unsettling.

Matt didn’t look away. He held his gaze in place for a good while, letting the reality of it all sink in. This was a part of him now, part of them and their past and present, it was real. His gaze raked across healing skin, moved over older scars and felt his heart sink a little at the sight of a few raw, fresh lines on the uppermost part of his thigh.

He traced a hand slowly up the inside of Jason’s thigh, at the edge of damaged skin. He felt the rough edges of scars already healed, straying father away from freshly torn skin. Jason was barely breathing, face fixed on something in the distance, refusing to look down at him.

The room was completely still, so silent that Matt almost heard the trembling in Jason’s muscles. He slid his hand up to caress Jason’s hand, smoothing over the tendons, flexed in a way that betrayed the force with which his fist was gripping the sheet.

“We can work through this”, Matt whispered, words ringing in the silence of the room. He let all his love and admiration bleed into his tone of voice, softening the edges of words, surprising even himself with his own confidence, the steadiness of his voice. “I promise you, we’ll fucking work through this.”

Jason let out a sound, a relieved sort of almost-sob and Matt felt the body under him relax, just slightly. His hand traced over his knuckles, before prying Jason’s hand from the sheet, intertwining their fingers.

“You’re beautiful”, Matt whispered, his thumb working in soothing circles across soft skin. Timidly, Jason turned his eyes back towards him, and Matt held his gaze. He let it show, the admiration he felt towards him, towards his beautiful body, splayed under him in all it’s glory. Something like unshed tears gleamed in the corner of Jason’s eye and Matt felt the hand in his squeeze back.

Matt’s other hand slipped upwards, finding it’s way all the way to Jason’s face. He crawled up his body, not letting go of his hand, and leaned in to connect their lips. Jason’s lips moved automatically against his, in perfect harmony. There was something in their kiss that hadn’t ever been there before, a steady burn of passion that felt so sure, so unmovable that it spread a surge of heat blazing through Matt’s whole body. He felt the tension in Jason’s body leave, escaping with a slow, content sigh.

This was truly it. This, whatever it was, was real. Not easy, not uncomplicated, but inescapably real.

It should have still been scary. It should’ve terrified Matt like nothing else. He didn’t do truth. He should’ve ran, bolted, removed himself from this situation, but he only felt himself smile into the kiss.

He wasn’t afraid.

He trailed his left hand back down, teasing a line across Jason’s hipbone with his index finger. He pulled his face back, crawling back down Jason’s body. He moved slowly, trailing kisses across his chest, licking at his nipples. He smiled at the shameless noises making their way back to his lovers lips, huffed a laugh at the growl he let out when he tugged slightly on the piercing. He licked a line down the curve of Jason’s body, lingered over his left hip bone, placed kisses on his inner thigh. 

Jason let out a choked breath as Matt blew hot air over the sensitive skin of his groin. He paused, just slightly, drawing an impatient noise from Jason’s lips.

Deliberately, gently, Matt placed a kiss on Jason’s right thigh, feeling ragged, healed skin under his lips. Immediately, Jason tensed, but Matt didn’t stop, only continued to trail kisses upwards, over the marks on his skin. He took his time, exploring the skin of Jason thigh, moving up torturously slow. Second by second, he felt Jason relax. Heard him humming appreciative noises again, felt his breathing increase. Matt moved up, pausing and ghosting his lips over the outline of Jason’s cock.

“Oh my god, Matt”, Jason breathed out, managing to sound both adoring _and_ impatient. He exhaled, expletives falling in whispers from his lips.

Matt paused for the slightest of seconds, before running his tongue in a sloppy, wet line along his cock. Jason let out a sound, something lost between a whine and a growl, and moved his hand to bury it in Matt’s messy hair. Matt took him into his mouth.

He started moving, slow and sweet, moving up and down until he felt Jason starting to move his hips with him. He slowed to a stop and glanced up, meeting Jason’s eyes, hooded with passion, encouraging him to keep moving. Jason let out a shaky breath a thrust up gently, experimentally, then repeating the motion. Soon, he picked up a steady rhythm, visibly revelling in the feeling of control. Matt allowed Jason to lead, to take control, to fuck his mouth gently. Jason needed that, needed this and Matt wanted to give him everything.

Jason’s pace soon became erratic, his mouth hanging open, hips arching off the bed again and again. Slowly, Matt took over again, step by step, pressing Jason back into the mattress, taking his full length into his mouth. It wasn’t long before Jason was a whining mess, completely undone under Matt’s touch.

“Matt, baby, please, I’m gonna-” Jason babbled, hand on Matt’s cheek, trying to pull him up, but Matt swatted his had away. He kept on a steady rhythm, ignoring his pleas. He felt Jason’s hand tangling in his hair tighter, pulling, heard him lose himself in the sensation of it, words becoming an incomprehensible mess.

He looked up, and his eyes met Jason’s. Eyes blown completely dark with desire, face glistening with a slight sheen of sweat, strands of hair sticking to his skin, he was the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

“ _Oh my God_ ”, Jason choked out, and then he was coming, hips jerking, lips curled around Matt’s name and head thrown back in ecstasy. Matt eased him through it, held him down as his hips thrust up. He pumped his head down for a final time, and let Jason’s dick fall from his mouth, making a show of licking his lips, swallowing even the last bits of Jason’s cum. Jason watched him with his eyes blown wide with lust and disbelief, and the awe in his gaze made Matt’s dick twitch. He climbed up his body to lock their lips together, letting Jason get a taste of himself.

Jason’s hand snaked clumsily between them, taking Matt in his hand. Matt gasped at the sensation of his fingers around him, a groan falling from his lips. He could’ve been embarrassed at how close he was, but he didn’t find it in himself to care. It was only a few shallow pumps of Jason’s hand, and Matt felt his own orgasm approaching.

“Jason-” he warned breathlessly.

“Let me see you, let me-” Jason rambled, grabbing him, holding his face where he could see.

Matt came hard and fast, eyes falling shut despite his best efforts to keep Jason in his sight. He painted the space between them with strings of white, a mess of words escaping his lips. _I love you, I love you, I love you,_ he thought. And this time, he heard himself say the words out loud.

After the aftershocks died down, he settled to Jason’s side. They lay in silence, fingers locked together, close enough to feel the heat from each other’s bodies. Matt listened to the sounds of their breathing, reaching his hand to rest over Jason’s heart, feeling it’s steady beating.

Suddenly, a choked breath broke the silence, one Matt was too familiar with. He turned towards Jason, to see tears falling in silent streams from Jason’s eyes, drawing lines of salt on porcelain skin.

“Jason? Why are you crying?”

Instead of hurt, instead of any form of pain that Matt feared to see on his face, an expression of joy shone through Jason’s tears. He smiled and let out a laugh that rang of peace and relief.

“I don't know”, he laughed out.

Matt smiled and placed a gentle kiss on Jason’s lips, hand caressing the side of his face, wiping away at the tears. He pressed himself close to the other’s body, closing him in a tight embrace.

“Happy tears?” He whispered, the question soft in the warm air.

“Yeah”, came the hoarse reply. “The happiest.”

They stayed like that, pressed together for a long while. The golden light of Atlanta sun warmed their skin and played in patterns on the white of the sheets. Just as Matt felt himself starting drift off to sleep, he heard Jason’s voice call out, soft and sleepy.

“Matt?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you”, Jason whispered, his voice clear and sincere.

Matt paused, for the slightest moment, before pressing his lips softly on the back of Jason’s neck.

“We’ll be okay”, he whispered.

“Yeah. I know.”

He could hear the smile in Jason’s voice.

They slept together, enjoying hours of soft, dreamless sleep. When they woke up, the golds of the sun had turned into soft glows of red and orange, slowly morphing into a soothing violet hue. The world around them moved, changing form and color, but for this day, at least, the two of them stayed still in complete harmony.

There was no magic fix, not for them, not for anyone and there never would be. But in the stillness of these moments, and in the days following, a steady sort of hope lingered, the kind that makes all the difference in the long run.

And just like that, all the possible futures they had ever dared to imagine were suddenly well within their reach.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhmh. Hi. It's your favorite degenerate! 
> 
> The spring has really been out to get me, there's been injury and general fuckery, f. e. turns out ripping a muscle in your leg to shreads is nasty business and takes time to get over. 
> 
> So here I am, at last. My apologies for the wait. 
> 
> I owe you guys this, some motherfucking closure and cuteness. And some real talk about magic fixes, bc they sure as fuck don't exist. 
> 
> Also, i'm writing a real ass play, and that shit takes time. This chapter could be the last one, if i don't get around to writing the last two. I hope I have time to explore the healing process more, but you never know. 
> 
> Love you! <3


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